


Paradise Thwarted

by JAMoczo



Series: Manchester Lost [3]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-21 19:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 108,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JAMoczo/pseuds/JAMoczo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Manchester Lost, which was a sequel to Good Omens.  Humanity has declared war, and now Heaven and Hell's best and brightest much band together to -- oh dear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Story Thus Far

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many thanks to my wonderful continued beta Quantum Witch, who actually threatened me if I didn't ask her to be my beta again! I couldn't do any of this without you, dear! Also, thanks to my wonderful lj friends list for letting me bounce ideas off them. Thanks to you for reading and humoring me yet again, and of course, most importantly, try to enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> This story archived at http://library.good-omens.net/viewstory.php?sid=478

The Story Thus Far  
As told by Aziraphale and Crowley  
(While having a fight)  
To two five-year-olds

"Once upon a time," said Aziraphale cheerfully, "there was a demon and an angel and they met in a garden. The demon caused the downfall of all Humanity and the angel smote him for it, but not permanently because that would be very mean and you oughtn't do such a thing ever. Then six thousand years later the demon begged the angel to help him stop Armageddon-"

"And the angel didn't know that a dolphin was a mammal," Crowley interjected wryly, "and the demon didn't need the angel's help but figured he could get it just by offering him alcohol and food, considering how much the angel eats."

Aziraphale2 and Bentley Pulsifer stared at their two babysitters in bewilderment.

"And the angel did help the demon," said Aziraphale1 with narrowed eyes, "because the demon was such a sad, pathetic, er, sleeper, and clearly needed all the help he could get. And the angel knows exactly what a dolphin is. Aquatic mammal, breathes through a blowhole, gives birth to live young, has very small hairs on rubbery skin, eats fish, excellent at doing tricks."

"Has big brains. Kind of fish," Crowley retorted with a tongue-stick-out.

The utterly confused expressions on the two children's faces did not change.

Aziraphale primly replied, " _You_ were the one harping on the size of their brains, if you recall."

"Maybe they use a spaceship," Crowley drawled.

"Oo, spaceships are neat," Bentley cooed.

"Anyhow," Aziraphale continued frigidly, "so the demon and the angel decided to watch over the Antichrist to make sure that he didn't destroy the world. Only, thanks to the demon's ineptitude, the child they watched wasn't really the Antichrist."

"That wasn't _my_ fault; that was all the nun's. Stupid nuns. I hate nuns," Crowley grumbled, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"In fact, the Antichrist had grown up to be a very nice little boy," Aziraphale continued, "and he decided he didn't want to end the world, because he liked it."

"Aren't stories s'possed to have morals?" Bentley asked.

"It _does_ , dummy," Aziraphale2 informed him, "Just 'cause you're born somethin' doesn' mean you have to stay it."

"That makes no sense," Bentley wibbled.

"That's 'cause you're stupid," Aziraphale2 retorted.

Aziraphale1 cleared his throat again. "Now now, children. The story isn't over yet."

The two five-year-olds returned their full attention to the blond angel.

"The angel got really pi-"

" _Language,_ Crowley."

"- angry at the demon and stepped on a different, meaner demon who wanted to kill the nice demon and the angel, all because the nice demon was nice and gave the angel's bookshop a makeover. The moral of the story is that you shouldn't do nice things for people."

" _Crowley_. That's hardly the point! The _moral_ is that you oughtn't go messing about with someone's property!"

"But it was messing in a _good_ way."

"You turned my shop into a large-scale retail book store! With a dance floor!"

"It smelled so much better, though."

Aziraphale huffed and went silent.

Crowley sighed. "Anyhow, kids, so after that, the angel managed to get himself kidnapped by Hell and the demon had to rescue him."

"To be fair, I – er, the angel was, er, sleeping at the time."

"So the demon rescued the angel, and then the end of the world started coming around again, so the demon rescued the angel yet again by taking him to visit the real Antichrist."

"That was hardly a _rescue_ , my dear. All it involved was y – the demon driving his car. Which he does more often than not anyway."

"And then the angel Fell because he's an idiot, and stole the demon's car because he's a bigger idiot, and fought with the Prince of Hell because he's the biggest idiot in Creation."

Aziraphale gave an affronted gasp. "You were the one who chained me – er, the demon chained the ex-angel up in his car!"

"You kidnapped my car!"

"You kidnapped _me_!"

"You kidnapped my car!"

"Quit trying to make it sound as if that's somehow worse!"

"It _is_ worse!"

"It is not!"

"I have no idea what they're talking about anymore," Bentley confided to his twin sister, who nodded in agreement.

"I was saving you from yourself, you martyring wanker!"

"And trying to end the world in the process, you selfish prat!"

"But you both lived and everyone lived and there was a happy ending, right?" Aziraphale2 voiced.

The two angels – one fairly newly returned to the Host – looked back at her. "Oh, right, of course dear," Aziraphale1 said sweetly. "It ended up rather nicely."

"Never mind that we both died," Crowley snorted.

"Temporarily. Remind me to make Adam a fruit basket for somehow indebting Death to himself."

"Another one?"

"Can I go to bed now?" Bentley asked loudly.


	2. Prologue

The performance had been a success and Crowley led them all through the back aisles of the concert hall to find their bus.

"Well done, girls, excellent performance," he said.

"What are you talking about? You weren't even watching, Clifford!" Uriel snapped back at him, and Crowley vaguely wondered why Uriel didn't know his name until remembering that he was talking Uriel; at least this time it had begun with a C.

"Yes I was!"

"Don't lie, no you weren't," Michael scoffed back. That's when Crowley noticed that both of them had spoken with thick British accents. That was odd – none of the Archangels had British accents, for obvious reasons.

"I sensed the vibes!" Crowley protested, suddenly noticing that all five of them were wearing extremely tight, revealing – wait, five? "I have an excellent vibe-sensor right here!" He pointed to his sunglasses.

"Yeah right," Raphael retorted with a smile.

"He just doesn't love us anymore!" Aziraphale – _whoa what is Aziraphale doing here and why is he wearing pigtails and is that a dress he's got on?* -_ exclaimed dramatically.

"Oh yes I do! I love you like a wildebeest loves five lionesses chewing at his legs," Crowley replied with a sigh that did not match the internal panic he was feeling.

One of them fake roared at him.

This was wrong. This was very, very wrong. Why were they all dressed like young women? Why did they all have very thick accents? And Gabriel's high heels had made him taller than Michael now! Why was he -

Crowley desperately tried to put together where he had seen this scene before. Some movie… Some movie that was so bad it was horrible…** Starring five pop starlets, from some girl group in the 1990s…

If only he could remember… It involved something about "what you really really want-"

" _NO!_ " he screamed as he figured it out, the hallway echoing his voice back at him.

Crowley woke up in a cold sweat, and turned to Aziraphale to assure there were no bows anywhere in that mass of curls he called hair. Aziraphale didn't seem to notice, as he was deeply asleep still.

He caught his breath and took in his surroundings. Ugh. What a horrid nightmare.

He instantly lost any calm he might have gained when he realized that they were going to a concert that night… going to see _them_ , to be more precise…

He had a bad feeling about this.

* * *

* And why was Crowley turned on?

** Opinions may vary as to whether it was so bad it was horrible, or so bad it was awesome.

* * *

"Are you _sure_ you're not going to go onstage?" Crowley demanded as he and Aziraphale found their seats in the front row of the stadium, "I mean, not even as a surprise? And they're not, you know, going to try dancing or anything are they?" And Crowley had assured that Aziraphale hadn't worn anything approximating a dress; not that he had had to do much, considering Aziraphale's fashion sense wasn't _that_ off-base.

Well, it _was_ off-base just a bit, as it was twenty years post Armageddon't Two™ and nearly thirty years after the first one and Aziraphale still dressed as if he was living in the 1950s. Never before had Crowley considered Aziraphale's fashion acceptable, but the old tartan vests and Oxford shirts with too much tweed involved were far, far beyond dresses.

"Oh hush," Aziraphale chastised, sitting in his seat with popcorn that suddenly found itself of much higher quality. "You know full well nothing of the sort is going to happen. Now be good or else you'll be the one writing the thank-you note for the tickets."

Crowley wisely went silent.

He and Aziraphale had arrived just in time. With plenty of fanfare – fog machines, laser lights, and thousands of screaming fans – _they_ appeared on stage, the hit rock band Foreigner; all other sounds and distractions were cut off by a steady drum beat and the accompanying bass.

" _Standing in the rain, with his head hung low,_ _c_ _ouldn't get a ticket, it was a sold out show_ ," the lead singer sang, tapping his foot to the beat, his own head and the heads of his band hung low, " _Heard the roar of the crowd, he could picture the scene_ _, p_ _ut his ear to the wall, then like a distant scream…"_

Uriel, Archangel of Redemption and the Presence, began to play the drums with increased enthusiasm. Gabriel, Archangel of Revelations, played the keyboard to match the quicker tempo. Raphael, Archangel of Knowledge and Healing, finally began to play his electric guitar. Michael, Archangel of Warriors, with a bass guitar in his hands, sang out with the charisma that had charmed millions.

" _He heard one_ _guitar_ _! Just blew him away_ _! H_ _e saw stars in his eyes, and the very next day_ _,_ _bought a beat up six string, in a second-hand_ _store_ _,_ _didn't know how to play it, but he knew for sure… That one_ _guitar_ _! Felt good in his hands!_ _D_ _idn't take long! To understand_ _! J_ _ust one guitar! Slung way down low! Was_ _a_ _one-_ _way_ _ticket_ _! Only one way to go_! _So he started rockin'_ _, a_ _in't never gonna stop_ _, g_ _otta keep on rockin'_ _, s_ _omeday he's gonna make it to the top!"_

" _And be a jukebox hero, got stars in his eyes, he's a jukebox hero!_

_"He took one guitar!"_

_"Jukebox hero, stars in his eyes, jukebox hero,_

_"He'll come alive tonight!"_

Crowley had to admit, even as he sang along, that knowing the Four in question made the concert a little bit ridiculous feeling – seeing them in their "rock getup" and knowing they'd be more comfortable in robes; and that Michael was only the lead singer because he was the biggest ham; and that Gabriel was _always_ that passionless whether playing the keyboard or drinking tea; and that the lights weren't what made Raphael seem like he was glowing, as that was just his happiness; and Uriel had to play the drums because he always cut himself on the guitar strings.

Ridiculous maybe, but certainly better than his dream…

The gunshot was drowned out by the singing and the music, but Crowley and Aziraphale heard it and turned to where it came from. The bullet whizzed past them up towards the stage, and Michael, not missing a beat, daintily stepped out of the way. Unseen by the humans' eyes, the bullet harmlessly embedded itself in the backdrop.

Aziraphale turned to Crowley. "Another one." No humans could hear them over the unceasing concert.

"They're going to have to end their tour," Crowley agreed, "if people know what they really are. It's too dangerous otherwise."

Aziraphale nodded grimly. "What is the world coming to…"

"An End."

* * *

Aziraphale smiled even as he held up his hands. "No matter how hard times have become," he said in his most placating voice, "armed robbery is not something you ought to lower yourself to, Mrs. Priester. If you would but put the gun down, I'm sure we can discuss this-"

"There's nothin' to discuss, Mr. Fell!" Rose Priester cried, her hands and voice shaking in equal measure, "You act all innocent but I know better! You killed Betsy, I knows it!"

Aziraphale was genuinely shocked at the allegation. "Betsy died? Oh, that poor girl-"

"I don't want your fake pity!" she screamed, "It was one of your angel friends! It had to've been! Well," the gun clicked ominously, "I won't let any more of you, you feathered bastards mess with us!"

Aziraphale's eyes widened drastically. "How-"

A shot rang out.

* * *

**_Paradise Thwarted_ **

A humble fanfiction sequel to _Manchester Lost_ by the authoress

which in turn was a humble fanfiction sequel to _Good Omens_ by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

still not written for profit (unless you include reviews (which the authoress does))

all characters are property of Messrs. Pratchett, Gaiman, God and Satan

**Dramatis Personae**

_Team Heaven_

God (God)

Jesus (God's… we'll just say "Child")

Metatron (Voice of God)

Michael (Archangel of Awesome and Badass of God)

Gabriel (Archangel of Revelations, who is surrounded by Michaels)

Raphael (Archangel of Healing, with more enemies than is healthy)

Uriel (Archangel of Redemption, previously thwarted by a chocolate muffin)

Raguel (Archangel of Angelic Harmony, and kind of superfluous)

Zerachiel (Archangel of Watchers, and Children… … …)

Chamuel (Archangel of Love and newly of Hope (replacing Ramiel))

Aziraphale (Angel of Tea and Chocolate)

Crowley (A Demon who did not so much Rise as Get Dragged Up By the Scruff of His Neck)

_Team Hell_

Lucifer (Emperor of Hell, who is evil and loving it)

Belial (Archdemon of Sloth and Lust, who has already brought sexy back)

Samael (Archdemon of Strife and newly of Pride (replacing Beelzebub), who has given up giving a crap)

Azazel (Archdemon of Avarice and newly of Wrath (replacing Moloch), who can really hold a grudge)

Dagon (Former Duke of Hell and part time produce deity, new Archdemon of Gluttony (replacing Mammon))

Adam (former Antichrist)

Pepper (Interior Decorator to the current Prince of Hell)

Brian (Planning General to the current Prince of Hell)

Wensleydale (Accountant to the current Prince of Hell)

Steve (A demon)

_Team Apocalypse_

War (the happiest personification of Humanity's evils _ever!_ )

Famine (Biker rather unimpressed with how the Apocalypse Round Three is going)

Pollution (very paranoid bishonen)

Death (Biker about to fulfill his quota)

Pestilence (Horseperson who proves retirement =/= not working)

_Team Earth_

Johnny McWhistle (A mycophagist)

Hazel Prue Fair-Alsip (Leader of Manifest Destiny)

Dämonverderben (Demonsbane, a demon slayer)

Evilosoth the Detroyer, Conqueror of Worlds (The New Antichrist)


	3. The Story Thus Far

**O** nce upon a time-before-time, a little cherub came into existence with a small "pop". He tested his little blue wings and floated around, giggling to himself as he took in his new surroundings. All sorts of things to see! There was a beautiful silver palace in the distance framed by a magnificent large moon, with fountains and parks and cobblestone streets and – and –

Barely able to contain his glee at this new world that he simply had to explore, the new cherub flapped his sapphire wings and began to have a looksie.

This particular black-haired green-eyed infant was a rare one among the angels of Heaven, for he was the first to learn to miracle before he even learned to crawl. As he floated about, heading vaguely in the direction of the Palace, he had to admit that the glorious Sun was just a tad bit on the glorious side, and so he miracled himself a pair of dark eye coverings. That made it much better, although the radiance of the Palace was dimmed, which was a little bit depressing for him.

Eventually his new wings grew tired, as it was a very far distance for such a small angel, and he had to allow himself to glide to the floor. He giggled at the new sensations of physical contact, although the more he crawled the less and less pleasurable the ground felt beneath his little hands and knees. So he thought, logically, that having something to move him would be a bit better. He miracled himself a box with a seat that fit him just right. But the box didn't move, so he attached four round things. In order for him to tell it where to go, he made another round thing designed for steering. There, perfect.

Much happier now, the little cherub coasted down the street toward the Palace, looking around to take in his surroundings. Other, much larger, angels looked down at him in surprise as he went by. He smiled happily.

Suddenly a foot stepped in front of him, halting his progress. A tall angel smiled down at him. "Well well, what do we have here? Aren't you a unique little fellow."

The cherub looked up at the angel, and simply Knew that this one – with his six glorious garnet wings, his pale gold curls, his chiseled features that would have had every artist in existence sobbing as they failed to recreate them – this Seraph was Lucifer, the Light-Bringer, second only to the Lord. The cherub felt awe and admiration, as even the eye coverings did not dim the beauty of the Second. Lucifer reached down and picked the little one up, holding him close.

"I like you," he said, turning to walk the way that the cherub had been going in his little invention (and the invention followed them), "Haven't been here long and you're already trying to make this place better." The two made eye-contact, shimmering lapis lazuli to gleaming emerald. "If I didn't have so much on my plate, I'd take you under my wings, see where that creativity could take you." He sighed and the cherub felt a deep sense of disappointment. If he could talk, he would have begged, _pleaded_ to be taken in, _oh how nice that would be, to be part of a nest, to have a home!_ "But we have enough trouble with just Raphael's little ward, and the Lord is planning on creating something called _stars_ which He expects me to manage, and it simply isn't feasible." Lucifer soothed the cherub's look of sadness with a wing-rub. "But don't you worry. I'll keep an eye out for you, little one. Hmmm, I ought to name you, right?" His lips turned downward in thought. "I don't know," he admitted eventually with a humble-sounding chuckle, "I'm apparently not as creative as you are. Tell you what; I'll take you back to the others, and maybe they can help me think of a name for you."

The nameless cherub dared to dream that once he was in Lucifer's nest he would stay there forever. It seemed so nice, to have a real home.

Not much later, the little cherub found himself sitting next to another little cherub in a playpen. Neither were able to talk in words, but they communicated as babies do.

"Ooboo." _My name is Aziraphael, what's yours?_

"Bada." _I haven't got a name yet._

"Oodieboo?" _You haven't got one? What do I call you then?_

"Ooo." _I don't know._

The fairer of the two crawled over and hugged the other. "Dababa." _I shall call you friend._

And the darker one was filled with joy, and it was good.

"Oh _dear_. I was barely able to name _my_ cherub, I don't know what good I can be," confessed another angel, this one with red-gold wings and curly crimson hair, "Aw, look, they've already bonded! Aziraphael, have you made a friend?"

Aziraphael responded with an affirmative coo as he hugged his new best-friend-forever.

"We're not _keeping_ him, Raphael," Lucifer explained to the red-headed angel. "He strikes me as the more independent type; we have to let his creativity flourish and grow. I just want to name him. It'll help me keep an eye out for him, see what he does."

Raphael looked disappointed at Lucifer's declaration, still eying the two infants hugging each other. "But… but Aziraphael needs a friend…"

Lucifer said nothing, just looking at his companion.

Raphael sighed. "You're right, of course; just _one_ cherub is a lot of work. Why, the other day I made the mistake of asking Uriel to watch him for a few minutes and when I came back Aziraphael was solidly bright green. It was all very odd."

Aziraphael shuddered.

Both Archangels stared at the snuggling infants in thought. The nameless cherub stared back. Aziraphael began dozing off, as he hadn't had his nap yet that day.

"Oh, the poor thing must be tired," Raphael murmured, reaching in and taking his infant in his arms. The other Cherub, however, did not let go. He held on to his new, sweet companion tightly, refusing to relinquish him. With a tug, the infant was forced to give up.

"My, aren't you a strong little fellow!" Raphael chuckled as he held his own baby to his chest. "You really do like my Zizi. How adorable!"

"Kireawel," Lucifer murmured, more to himself than to his fellow Archangel.

"''For God is my Friend'," Raphael translated, "Why, what a fetching name. Suits him, too. If Aziraphael is his friend, then God must be too!"

And so it was.

* * *

Kireawel became popular, but for all the wrong reasons. He also had a lot of friends, but they were all the wrong kinds. Hastiel, Ligiel, Beel – they were the closest thing Heaven had to delinquents. Kireawel didn't like them and suspected they didn't like him, but he thought they kept things interesting, although he didn't think there was any need for them to target others. They seemed to have an exception with Aziraphael, who would ignore them and read his books. Kireawel went along with it because all he wanted was to have friends. But he didn't want to hurt anyone either…

* * *

The night of the very first Festival of the Stars was of course impossibly gorgeous. Kireawel, left alone by his other friends from school, settled in on a particularly soft cloud and gazed at the newly-created stars, marveling at how _many_ there were and how some of them would move on occasion, and wishing that he could have thought of it himself. At that time, Kireawel wished he could be an adult, out of school, and doing _something,_ helping _somehow_. How wonderful it would have been to be part of that planning, to design and create, especially something that brought joy to so many!

"Kireawel?"

He started and looked up into the shining blue eyes of Aziraphael, which appeared to be the same colour as the night sky. How weird – the nerd was talking to him? It's not like they were friends or anything… "Hi!" he said anyway, just excited that _someone_ was coming over to him. He did feel a little lonely, and really, Aziraphael was quiet, so he was better than anybody else.

"Want to come sit with me for the rest of the festival?" the blond angel asked.

Kireawel glanced over at the large picnic setup where Aziraphael's foster-father, the Archangel Raphael, and his foster-uncles, the Archangels Lucifer, Michael, Gabriel and Uriel, were resting and watching the stars. As an angel, Kireawel loved and respected all five of them; as a normal child, however, he felt a sense of disappointment every time he looked at His Second. Lucifer did keep good on his word to watch out for Kireawel, occasionally inquiring into his grades at school or even smiling at him in passing. But… if only he had…

Well, to be fair, if Lucifer _had_ accepted him into his nest, then Kireawel would be cousins with Aziraphael, and that would be just plain _weird_. Him, related to such a huge bookworm? No way.

"Er, I… are you sure they won't mind?"

Aziraphael smiled and hoisted Kireawel to his feet, dragging him back to the picnic setup.

* * *

He was always very curious, intrigued by things that he oughtn't be and willing to break the rules in order to see them closer. This would be true in the future when he was interested in Humanity and in a certain "adversary" of his, but this was also true when Kireawel still lived in Heaven. All of the angels without parents lived in a large nest with Lilliel, who loved them all so much but had so many of them that it was easy for him to sneak away every once in awhile. But he had never gone to the Outliers, the Lord's testing grounds, before, and this was a challenge begging to be surmounted.

"Come with me," Kireawel said to Aziraphael with his green eyes as enticing as he could make them. "It'll be so much fun!" And, Kireawel hoped, it would help make Aziraphael less of a stick-in-the-mud.

"Oo, I don't think that's a good idea," Aziraphael said warily. "It's forbidden for anyone not in Michael's forces to go into the Outliers because of how dangerous it can be… Remember that time when the Host went out and Bobiel nearly got eaten? It was scary! He almost didn't make it, and my father was the one who healed him too!"

"Awww c'mon," Kireawel pouted, not at all surprised that Aziraphael would reject the idea at first, "It's dangerous for _other people_ , but you and I are smart! I'm sure we'll be fine! We're just going to look around, see what's going on out there! It'll help us understand Our Father, and isn't that the best thing we can do?"

Aziraphael was wavering. "Um… well… He's ineffable, so we can never truly understand Him-"

"He's what?" Kireawel asked.

"Ineffable," the other little angel repeated. "Incomprehensible. Indescribable."

"Yeah yeah I get it. So we can't understand Him, but we Worship Him, so we should try our very best to _try_ to understand, and anyway I heard there are big plants and monsters and stuff out there! So c'mon! Let's go see all the wonders of Creation! Yay God!"

Aziraphael still looked wary even when Kireawel grabbed his hand and dragged him out the door.

* * *

So Aziraphael's dad, Raphael, had prohibited them from speaking again. At least no one died… Right? Oops.

* * *

He firmly believed in the Lord's Power, that God had his best interests at heart, and that there was a reason he had been left alone most of his life. His heart and soul sang when in the greenhouse, his creativity bloomed as he helped create _plants_ for the new Garden. Sachluph praised his new apprentice.

Until the Fall, it was enough.

The Fall made him question, made him doubt. "There's something I don't understand," he said to Aziraphael, his only friend left in Heaven.

"What?" Aziraphael questioned, looking pale and drawn himself. Aziraphael had been a warrior in Michael's ranks; Kireawel had stayed neutral throughout the battle.

"Why did it happen?" Kireawel asked desperately, "Why are they all gone?"

"They rebelled," Aziraphael replied sadly. "They turned their backs…"

"Wait," he interjected quickly, not satisfied with that answer, "Wait, the Lord is Almighty, so how could Lucifer rebel _without His approval_? That's just not right…"

The sky opened up beneath him and he Fell.

* * *

The City Dis was created and so did Lucifer, now Satan, crimson wings stained, stand in front of his forces, the legions, Pandemonium.

"So yeah," he spake and Hell listened to his words, "we got a little bit schooled there. So I was thinking we could maybe figure out some way to get Revenge. There's a lot of us here, so working together we can do some damage. Any ideas?" He stepped back to allow one of the others whom had Fallen with him the right to speak to the Legions.

Moloch, Fierce Warrior of the Night, he who rivaled even the great Michael with his strength and temerity, now enraged further by this slight against his honor, approached the pulpit to offer his wisdom. " _KILL THEM ALL! MURDER_ _KILL DESTRUCTION CHAOS DEATH AND TERROR AH HA HA HA!"_

After Moloch did spew his Wrath, Belial arose, the fairest Fallen Angel, incarnate lust, he who was returning sexy to its rightful place. "Listen," said he with a placating gesture, "this place isn't half bad. And we're not chained to any lakes of fire, so it could get worse if we try something. Let's just chill here for awhile. See how it goes." He gave a shrug and Pandemonium swooned in response.

Then stood up Mammon, bedecked in the finest jewels and metals, and he moved towards the front of the pulpit. "With time and energy, we can make this place a second Heaven. Say, Satan, I know you said Beelzebub is Second, but can I be tied with him, or maybe third?"

"No."

"Drat." And Mammon sat.

Pandemonium went silent, for next to speak was the great and powerful Beelzebub, Satan's Second, Lord of the Flies. "We zzzzhould find the Humanzzzzzzz zzzzzhat" and half of Pandemonium ceased to listen as it sounded ridiculous indeed with all of the buzzing sounds, "God created and make _zzhem_ suffer!"

"What is up with that noise?" asked a lesser demon of the Horde.

"I have no idea," replied another. Truth being told, no one knew.

Originally this plan had been Satan's idea funneled through Beelzebub; after all, such an idea would sound less biased coming from someone else. The clever Morninglord said, "Indeed, I believe an excellent idea would be to ruin the souls of the Humans the Old Man created! But who shall we send? Someone who would be able to make trouble while not attracting too much attention, although we don't really know what trouble is yet so this someone would have to be creative."

And newly-Fallen Crawly, located in the very back of Dis, as he had lost his Cherubim status equivalent in Hell due to having Sauntered Downward instead of getting a Holy Smite to the Backside, tried unsuccessfully to hide himself behind his new Fallen companions.

* * *

He didn't remember anything of Heaven now. All he knew was that he was Crawly – which he didn't really approve of – and that he was supposed to "cause trouble" – which he didn't know how to do. He went into the Garden in disguise as a long legless thing, where he slithered through the grass (which seemed so familiar somehow, but even that was fleeting), trying to find his targets.

He found the Humans and was unimpressed. They frolicked amongst the plants and animals, eating fruits and touching each other, delighting and praising and the whole bit.

He found the Angels and was again unimpressed. One angel guarded each gate, and three of them were stoic, reserved, tense and ever watchful.

The fourth was sitting under a tree with a book in his lap and a smile on his face, sketching something in the book as he gazed at a large antlered creature that was grazing. He looked almost personable. More importantly, his sword wasn't on fire at the moment and it was far enough away that Crawly wouldn't get accidentally smote before accomplishing anything.

He slithered (he adamantly refused to ever say he "crawled," just on principle) over to the relaxed angel. "Whatcha writin'?"

The angel jumped and then recovered himself. "Oh, hello there," he said, chuckling to cover up that he'd been caught so unawares, "You startled me." He looked more thoughtfully at Crawly, analyzing him. "Snake, right? I'm afraid I've already got your picture drawn."

"Hey, I'm not a sssssssnake," Crawly retorted without thinking about it first.

"You're not?" the angel questioned, looking more closely. "You certainly look like one." He started flipping through his book. "Oh dear. You see, Ariel tasked me with recording all the animals and their names, and if Adam's gone off and started naming the same animals different things, well, that's going to make things infinitely more complex, now isn't it?"

"I'm different, though. Do ssssssnakessssss talk?" Crawly asked, sliding over and moving onto the angel's lap so he could get his head high enough to see what was in the book.

"Well, no," the angel admitted, "But then again, none of the other animals talk either, so it's not as if the snake is alone in that regard." He flipped to an open page. "Well then, what are you?"

He hadn't thought of that. He stalled by moving to drape himself over the angel's shoulders. "Oh. Um. I don't know."

"Hmmm… Well, we needn't bother Adam with that; I shall call you… er…"

It came to him. "Sssserpent. I'm a ssssserpent."

"Ah! Interesting! Serpent: a snake that can talk. Well, stay still and let me sketch you into my book here," the angel said, beginning to draw.

Crawly let him get through a couple of pen strokes before interrupting, "Ssssso, my name'sssss Crawly, what'sssss yours?"

"Aziraphael," the angel replied congenially, not seemingly at all put-off by having a large serpent wrapped around his neck.

The name sounded kind of familiar.

"Although I'm thinking of changing it. The pronunciation is a bit off, one thinks."

"Not very fond of my name either," the serpent admitted. "Ssssso, what'sssss there to get up to around here?"

Aziraphael continued to look back and forth between the book and the serpent draped over his shoulders. "Well, Adam and Eve are very keen on frolicking. You could do that."

"Eh. Don't have legssssss."

"Fair enough. Er, from what I'm aware of, you can do anything you want to, but no one is supposed to eat the Forbidden Fruit from the Forbidden Tree of Forbidden Knowledge."

"Huh? Why'ssss that?"

"Because it's Forbidden," Aziraphael replied patiently.

Crawly smiled, knowing _exactly_ what kind of trouble he could cause.

* * *

Aziraphale broke the silence as the two stared out into the quickly-dampening forest on the outskirts of Eden. "I just don't know what I'm going to do about the sword. What if someone asks about it? Lying is frowned up, you know, but I can't very well say I gave it away to the humans. Regardless Michael is going to be simply _furious_ with me, but…"

"Huh. That could be a problem," Crawly agreed. "Well, um… Oh, I know. You're Adam-shaped right?"

Aziraphale nodded. "Yes, I am. From the sound of it you would be too if you decided to take on a human form. What is your point, Crawly?"

"I sssaw Adam with Eve a couple of times, and… Ssso it's like, you ssstill have that, thing, the pointy thing, ssso you call it your 'flaming ssssword,' so you never really lost your 'flaming sssssword'. That'sss what you can tell your angel friendsss who assssk what happened to it. Heh. 'Flaming sword.' Get it? Essspecially if the one asssking is sssomeone you want to do that thing to, the thing Adam and Eve did a lot. They asssk 'Asssiraphale where is your flaming sword' and you say 'I never put my flaming sssword down baby' and take off your robe. Hehehe."

" _Crawly_ ," the angel demurred.

"What?" the serpent asked with a grin.

"Too soon, and far too easy of a joke."

"Sssorry," said Crawly, who wasn't, really. He thought he was quite clever.

* * *

Slightly less than six thousand years after that in St. James' Park:

"Sorry _?"_ said Aziraphale. "I thought that _was_ the big one."

"I'm not sure," said Crowley. "Think about it. For my money, the really big one will be all of Us against all of Them."

"What? You mean Heaven and Hell against humanity?"

Crowley shrugged.

* * *

Nine years after that in Heaven, Crowley was talking to God and wasn't convinced of something.

"What's the catch, then? There's always a catch. You have something ineffable planned and I am _really_ sick of being part of a plan I don't understand."

"You _do_ know what the word 'ineffable' means, right?"

"You've done nothing for me for thousands of years," Crowley continued, "so why make everything so… perfect?"

God's smile became sad. "Because… Because you and Aziraphale are My Children, Crowley, and I look out for My Children."

"But what's going to happen that's worse than what we just went through?"

"Ah, yes. You are, under no circumstances, going to tell this to Aziraphale, because I already told him what he hoped to hear and the poor dear needs to stop fretting so much. If nothing else, you are going to forget this conversation afterwards anyway. Well, you noted it yourself not long ago. As much as it pains Me to admit it, it's only a matter of time before Humanity decides to take its chances without infernal or ethereal meddling."

"Heaven and Hell versus Humanity," Crowley whispered.

* * *

Later that week, after the world hadn't ended yet again, Aziraphale and Crowley did what they usually did and what anyone would do in this sort of situation – went and got drunk. Despite the level of intoxication, Crowley was not as relaxed as he normally was during a drinking session. After all, this time there was _pressure_ involved, pressure to… Well, at any rate, he was so anxious that he wasn't having a fun time, which was just a shame because Aziraphale seemed to be almost blissfully, if drunkenly, happy.

Aziraphale put both of his elbows on the bar and leaned over with his chin on both hands, looking at Crowley a bit cross-eyed. "You, my dear," he slurred, "are _not_ enjoying yourself, which is, I must say, an exceptionally pitiable pity, you know, becaushe I think if we're going to be here we should _both_ be having fun, but obviously you are not, which is not a good thing if you ask me, which you didn't, but you ought to have, becaushe I'm usually spot-on with these sorts of observationsh, although I don't know _why_ you're so moody, becaushe here we are, alive and not dead, and a little bit drunk, and a little bit, er, here."

"Azir – Azira – angel, you are sssso drunk it's not even really drunk 'nymore, 'cause you're gone beyond being just drunk and gone on to being, er, really drunk. And 'm fine, so shuttup an' stop buggin' me, 'cause I'm as happy as a… as a… happy thing."

Aziraphale smiled brightly as he accepted another mixed drink. "Why, _I_ know what will cheer you up old boy! We should sing!"

Crowley winced. That was the whole problem.

Since karaoke had been invented, Aziraphale, the angel in the partnership, had always sung the lead while Crowley, who had a decent voice but certainly not a heavenly one, had sung backup. It was The Way Things Were. But The Way Things Were was changing…

"I don' wanna sing."

"Sure you do! You're an angel now like _me_ , and _angels_ like to _sing_ , and not dress with _bling_ and certainly not wear anything that is _cling_ …y, but regardless," he pointed to the karaoke machine, "we need to test out your new voice!"

"I don' wanna sing, Azira – Azi – you! I said no!" Crowley tried to cross his arms and ended up punching the bar accidentally. He didn't feel it.

Aziraphale swayed to his feet and grabbed Crowley's arm, dragging him away. "C'm _on_ , Crowley, it'll be smashing!" Crowley refused to budge, although with the lack of coordination he had currently they ended up on the floor in a tangled mess of angel. Aziraphale opened his large blue eyes and put on his most pleading look. Crowley melted like butter in a hot oven on a midsummer's day on a blue star.

"Fiiiiiiine, but you don' get to pick the song!"

Aziraphale picked the song, and while it was definitely good for karaoke it was also far too mushy for his tastes, much to Crowley's drunken anxious chagrin.

"Fiiiiiiine, but you're _really_ singing with me!" Crowley snapped, holding on to his cheap microphone for dear life as the song began. "It'sssssss my firsssssst time sssssinging the lead sssssso I get what I want!"

"Yay!" Aziraphale was already swaying as he held his own microphone, which he continued to do until Crowley began singing.

" _I can't fight this feeling any longer_ ," Crowley sang softly, uncertainly, _"and yet I'm still afraid to let it flow; what started out as friendship has grown stronger, I only wish I had the strength to let it show!"_

It needs to be said that if Crowley had been anything approaching sober he would never have agreed to sing this song. That being said, utterly smashed as he was, he was already almost enjoying himself.

Showing him up while smiling at him encouragingly, Aziraphale sang, " _I tell myself that I can't hold out for-ev-er, I say there is no reason for my fee-aar, 'cause I feel so secure when we're to-geee-theeeer, you give my life direction, you make everything soooo cleeeaaaar!_

As Crowley and Aziraphale began singing together, Crowley began to feel a bit more self-confidence. " _And even as I wander, I'm keeping you in sight! You're a candle in the window on a cold dark winter's niii-iiight!"_

 _"And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I miiii-iiiight!"_ Crowley crooned out.

 _"And I can't fight this feelin' anymore!"_ the two angels sang together.

 _"I've forgotten what I've started fighting for!_ " the almost-as-drunk-as-they-were crowd chimed in.

_"It's time to bring this ship into the shore,"_

_"and throw away the oars for-ev-er!"_

" _'Cause I can't fight this feeling anymore! I've forgotten what I started fighting fooo-ooor!"_

 _"And if I have to crawl upon the floor,"_ Aziraphale sang, dropping to his knees dramatically.

" _Come crashing through your door,_ " Crowley added, giving a wide sweep of his arm.

" _Baby I can't fight this feeling anymore!"_ they sang, and the fact that they were looking at each other with stars in their eyes as they did so would be something neither of them would ever admit once they were sober.

There, that wasn't so bad. So far so good. To him Crowley's voice didn't sound any different than it had before, but from the stares of the crowd, it had improved drastically. Hamming it up like only someone who is drunk and confident can, Crowley sang, _"My life has been such a whirlwind since I saw you, I've been running around in circles in my mind! And it always seems that I'm following yoooou-"_

Aziraphale was giving him a Look.

" _\- aaangeeeeel,_ " Crowley amended, " _'cause you take me to the places that alone I'd never find!"_

" _And even as I wander I'm keeping you in sight,_ " Aziraphale sang, and it was on par with what Crowley had just finished crooning, much to the latter's delight, " _you're a candle in the window on a cold dark winter's night!"_

" _And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might!"_

They sang, Crowley playing the air guitar and Aziraphale the air drums, " _And I can't fight this feeling anymore! I've forgotten what I started fighting for! It's time to bring this ship into the shore and throw away the oars forever!"_ and now the entire bar was singing along with them, " _'cause I can't fight this feeling anymore! I've forgotten what I've started fighting for! And if I have to crawl upon the floor, come crashing through your door!"_

" _Baby I can't fight this feeling anymore…_ " Crowley sang softly as the song faded out.

The rest of the bar's patrons applauded them. Aziraphale beamed at Crowley and applauded him as well. Crowley blushed with pride.

He might be able to get used to this whole "being an angel" thing after all.

* * *

Later that week, Raphael smiled at Crowley cheerfully, secreting him away from the other angels as they had dinner together for the first time as a family. "Crowley my dear," he said sweetly, "I know that he has already chosen you so my words come a tad too late, but I thought you ought to know this. Aziraphael is my baby. I raised him from the moment he popped into existence to the moment he went to Earth and left my nest. I love everyone, but him most of all – well, after Our Father of course, but that goes without saying. Regardless, Aziraphael is the light of my life, the apple of my eye, and he will be my precious baby Zizi until the End."

Crowley nodded, terrified despite himself.

"Ignoring that Michael, Gabriel and Uriel helped me raise him and therefore would also be cross, if you hurt my Zizi, even make him cry, if you are the cause of him getting anything more than a paper-cut, if even so much as a single golden curly hair on his head gets a split-end because of you, I will hunt you down, and you'll _wish_ I'd just smite you." Raphael continued on, all very professionally, "I understand you did not Rise due to Faith in Our Father. Therefore, should you cause my Aziraphael any undue stress, you will re-find your Faith in the Lord, begging Him to save you from me."

"Ngk," said Crowley.

"And even the Lord would not be able to save you should you actually leave my Zizi heartbroken and desolate. I will have Uriel and Michael taking notes on proper painful techniques in destruction if you do such a thing to him. Do you understand me?"

Crowley, feeling deep terror the likes of which he had never felt before, nodded enthusiastically. "Yes sir. He's safe with me, sir."

Raphael smiled brilliantly and hugged him. "Oh good! Because you two are just _adorable_ together! Come, let's go back to the others, I baked brownies!"

* * *

Eleven years after the world didn't end again, Crowley sat down on the television in their South Downs cottage and turned it on, flipping through channels boredly while Aziraphale performed an emergency binding procedure on a first edition of already-disproven Nostradamus.

_"Breaking news: Prime Minister Adam Young was assassinated today by political activists protesting his recent environmental reform bills…"_

Crowley at first gaped and then snarled as a shocked reaction; the television apologized and dimmed.

Aziraphale gripped the book he was fixing tightly as his head snapped up. "That can't be right," he murmured. "Didn't he only recently return from his trip around the world?"

Crowley, still in shock, shook his head but stopped the growling. "That was five years ago, angel."

"Really? My goodness, time certainly does fly." Aziraphale looked utterly numb except for his fingers having turned white where he was still grasping the book.

"But how…" Crowley asked softly, "How do you just walk up and shoot the Antichrist?"

What happened next was disturbing even to someone like Crowley who thought he had seen everything.

" _In other breaking news, thousands gathered today for a rally in London, flying in from all over the world for an impromptu rally,"_ said the television, _"to hear the words of the sage Hazel Prue Fair-Alsip, age unknown. She has been often quoted speaking against Judeo-Christianity. Recent events have shown that the religion is all too real as Armageddon, foretold in Biblical Revelation, very nearly came about. As such Ms. Fair-Alsip's organization, Manifest Destiny, has gained quite the following."_

"Turn that off," Aziraphale said testily, taking the remote from Crowley's hand and doing it himself.

Crowley still hadn't quite accepted that someone could kill the Antichrist; had something happened that he wasn't aware of? A drawback of not being a demon anymore was no longer receiving the Hellish Handout newsletter directly into his brain. "Adam's death must've broken the, the what's-it-called…"

"The charm placed on humanity that made them forget the Apocalypse," Aziraphale finished. "And now that they've remembered, they're obviously upset." Suddenly his smile brightened. "On the good side, if there is one (oh poor Adam but it hasn't quite sunk in I don't think), our superiors have been complaining about a decline of religion on Earth, and now that's certainly been reversed, what with irrefutable proof… Hah… hah…" He sobered. "Poor Adam…"

"Humans are so odd," Crowley said softly, still looking at the television. "Thinking they can destroy Heaven and Hell. As if they could."

Aziraphale sadly shook his head. "All that we did…"

"We knew it had to happen eventually."

"Not like this."

Crowley didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing.

* * *

_Three years later:_

Gabriel daintily sipped at red wine as he looked at his "nephew."

"Now then Aziraphael," he said sternly, "you know I care for you, but you know there's nothing I can do about this unpleasant situation that _you_ got yourself into."

Aziraphale nodded weakly. Crowley was hiding behind the doorway, eavesdropping.

"It's an official order, from Him, to Uriel. If Uriel even _thinks_ you're going to intervene in a way that is not conducive to Heaven's winning, then he is to Fell both you and your partner and destroy you."

Aziraphale nodded again. "I see."

"I have been told so that I can help assure that Uriel doesn't… jump to conclusions. But that does not mean that if you actually _do_ anything and he begins the process that I can stop it. Do you understand?"

Aziraphale nodded yet again. "Yes I do. So, erm, my father doesn't know?"

"Neither he nor Michael know. Technically you weren't supposed to know either, but I thought it best you understand the consequences, and that Heaven is not taking any chances. This is It, Aziraphael. You are technically to remain neutral, but you are _not_ to intervene on Humanity's side."

"I understand." The angel grimaced even as he acquiesced.

* * *

For about a year, nothing happened of note. The idea of rebellion continued to fester, but everyone on the other two sides of this silent war considered themselves impenetrable.

Crowley had always secretly entertained the idea that all the conflicts in the world could be solved by both sides meeting Aziraphale for tea and discussing their problems like civilized (read: British) people.

Apparently someone agreed with him, because here he was with said angel, Four Archangels and Four Archdemons, getting ready to discuss something or another that Crowley hadn't been privy too. Case in point, Crowley had been forbidden from attending the meeting; he had as such turned himself into a tiny snake and hidden in Aziraphale's pocket, poking his little head out on occasion. Aziraphale himself, only allowed to attend as mediator, was bustling about making tea whilst the extraplanar super powers glared at each other across their dining room table.

Azazel, the Archdemon of Avarice and Wrath, was glaring daggers at poor Raphael, who had bound him; the angel looked awfully embarrassed. Michael was bristling at the negative attention being paid his brother. Samael, the Archdemon of Strife and Pride, whom had been thwarted by Michael many times over the millennia, nibbled on a biscuit and looked disinterested; after all, his greatest foe was Michael, but he was forbidden from killing him because Satan "had dibs," which meant he no longer cared about what was going on here. Belial, Archdemon of Sloth and Lust, was obviously ogling Uriel, but Uriel, equally obviously, had no idea what the look's implication was. Gabriel looked terribly bored. And Dagon, Archdemon of Gluttony, looked absolutely horrified; case in point, he was hiding in a corner.

"Azazel dear, can't you let bygones be bygones?" Raphael asked, still looking ashamed.

"You should just consider yourself lucky," Azazel hissed back, "that Asmodeus refused to even come up here. He said he wouldn't be able to resist the chance to tear your limbs from your body!"

"I shouldn't though," Dagon whimpered in terror from his place in the corner. "He should be here, not me!"

Belial gave a great sigh. "Asmodeus clearly has enough problems anyway. Who decided we needed a lust and wrath demon, when we already had me and the late Moloch? Lust wasn't meant to be mixed with _wrath_."

"And don't call me _dear_ ," Azazel snapped, ignoring Belial.

"Don't you threaten him!" Michael threatened, "I will smite your sorry ass!"

"As if you could," Samael deadpanned.

"Do you wanna go, bitch?!"

"Language, dear," Raphael chastised.

Gabriel gave a very loud, very annoyed sigh. "Might we get this meeting underway?"

Almost as if on cue, Aziraphale started walking around, placing tea cups down. He even guided the shaking Dagon out of the corner.

"This isn't fair at all," Dagon moaned as he sat down, "We're outnumbered!"

"Now now Mr. Dagon," Aziraphale said soothingly, lifting the tea cup and placing it into Dagon's hands, "I am neutral, as you know." None of the angels looked happy about that. "And none of the angels here would violate the truce, as I hope none of the demons will. Have your tea and relax."

Dagon nodded and began sipping, unable to resist the tea for long.

"Now then," Aziraphale continued pleasantly, looking down the table, "we are all here to hash out terms for an alliance. If you wish to speak, you must raise your hand. Absolutely no threatening, miracles, or showing of any angelic or demonic attributes will be allowed. I expect each and every one of you to sip on your tea and have some biscuits," he gestured to the freshly-baked pastries, "when you are not speaking. I will be moderating this discussion. Now then, who wishes to begin?"

All eight of them raised their hands.

Aziraphale seemed to expect it. "Well then, Mr. Azazel, why don't you begin the discussion, seeing as-"

"How about we sign a treaty where all of you rot in the depths of the Abyss!"

"How _dare_ you interrupt him!" Michael snapped back, standing up.

"How dare _you_ yell at him for interrupting him," Samael intoned emotionlessly at Michael, although he didn't stand up or look angry in the slightest. "That's just tacky."

"I am so confused," Uriel admitted softly.

Aziraphale was there in a flash, forcing a cup of tea into Michael's hands while fixing Azazel with a pointed Look. The Archangel sat back down with a glare on his face even as he daintily sipped at the delicately-fashioned china teacup. The Archdemon did not look repentant.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. "Right. No interrupting either; I apologize for not making that clear. Now then Mr. Azazel, did you have an _actual_ point to make?"

"… … … No," he muttered, taking a biscuit.

"All right. Raphael, you may speak next."

"Our first order of business ought to be a no-violence clause," the Archangel established. "Our enemies are the humans, not each other."

All present at the table except for Raphael and Dagon gave loud, long snorts.

"What did the humans even do?" Dagon asked.

Everyone at the table looked at Aziraphale, who looked at Dagon pointedly.

Dagon raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Dagon?" Aziraphale asked.

"What did the humans even do?" he asked again. "I mean, no one told me _why_ we're making a treaty."

"That's a good question, Mr. Dagon," Aziraphale said soothingly, making Dagon blush, "Would anyone here care to explain the details of what happened?"

Gabriel volunteered. "When the Antichrist passed, humanity regained knowledge of how they were almost wiped out twice. They," his cool gray eyes narrowed as he tried to think of how to delicately phrase this, "took exception to this. We didn't think anything would come of it, but then Manakel went on vacation to Australia, wanting to go scuba diving to see all the aquatic life. Well… his timing couldn't have been worse… They found out who he was, that he was an angel, and they killed him… no, they really wiped him from Existence. Since then, there have been other attacks, other deaths, and our intelligence has gathered they are mobilizing. They even have a leader, and a name for their movement: Manifest Destiny."

"I thought humans were creative," said Samael dryly.

"The humans have declared war," Gabriel finished.

"Sure, when humans kill demons it's no big deal, but when they kill an _angel_ , well, it's time to go exterminating!" Azazel sneered.

"Mr. Azazel, do not interrupt or you will forfeit your right to speak at all," Aziraphale snapped at him. Azazel angrily began munching on another biscuit.

"Besides, he has a point," Belial admitted, gesturing to Gabriel (whose ears, despite his most stoic effort, turned red with Belial's attention), "it's not as if we have made life easy for humans. The angels have always acted in their best interests. Well, except for the Ending and whatnot, but still. It's the difference between killing someone who's trying to kill you, and killing someone who's trying to help you."

"Yes," said Aziraphale, his voice clearly betraying he wasn't listening at all. Crowley's tiny little snake mouth dropped.

"I like it when you talk," Uriel informed Belial brightly.

"I like it when _you_ do anything," Belial replied suavely. Uriel blushed and giggled.

"Isn't he supposed to raise his hand?" Michael demanded harshly.

"If he wants to," Aziraphale replied dazedly.

Belial winked at him.

Samael looked at Belial passionlessly. "Cease the seduction, Belial."

"I'm not doing anything," the other protested, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Of course not."

"Anyhow," Raphael smoothly interrupted, "we were discussing the treaty?" He looked at his foster son pointedly.

"Oh, yes, treaty. Erm, so it has been suggested that the first line of business be the establishment of a no-violence clause. Does everyone agree?"

"I like that idea!" Dagon exclaimed, raising his hand exuberantly.

"Coward," Azazel and Michael hissed. Belial and Gabriel both gave sighs, Gabriel's more annoyed than Belial's. Samael didn't seem to mind. His life was already a no-violence clause, or so it felt sometimes.

"All right, so consider it made. No acts of violence between members of Heaven and Hell for the time being. What should be next? We need to discuss specifics of how we can…" his voice sounded dejected now, "… defeat Humanity."

All hands went up again.

"Yes, Mr. Samael?"

"Actually, I just want to know his question," the demon admitted, pointing at Uriel.

"Yes, Uriel?"

"Are marshmallows made of marsh?" the angel asked innocently.

"… … … No."

Unsurprisingly, no one was sure how to follow that up.

Finally Michael braved it, raising his hand. After Aziraphale called on him, he ventured, "So, um, battle plans, right? We can kick arse and take names, somehow. Although there are a _lot_ of them. But we already knew that. So. Who's in charge? We should take them out first."

Silence fell amongst the immortals.

"We do not know," Samael admitted. " _No one_ knows. There _is_ a mastermind, but, we only have a name. There are no records of her from before the war that we could find, and we think her name is a fake one, anyway. According to what we _have_ found, she is something of a seer. That's all we know."

"Who cares? She'll be dead in a hundred years," Azazel said with a dismissive hand-wave.

"We can't afford to wait that long," Gabriel chimed in, "Not at the rate the humans reproduce. As such, we ought to begin by finding out who is in charge and removing them from the equation."

"Which is what I said," Michael interjected with pride.

"You know, Michael, I think it would be in the best interests of everyone should you only be allowed to speak when called upon _forever_."

Michael pouted. "Don't say stuff like that. You love the beautiful sound of my gruff, masculine voice."

"You sound like a moron with laryngitis, and I assure you, should I have had more stage presence, and should the humans have been able to hear angelic voice nuances, I would _never_ have allowed _you_ to become the lead singer of our band."

After exactly three weeks of their first concert tour as the rock band Foreigner, they had come to realize that the only one with enough stage presence and crowd-attracting glamour to be the lead singer and thus the main focus of said band was Michael, and as such the other three surrendered "their" songs to him. Unfortunately for his fellow Archangels, out of the four of them he also had the worst singing voice. Humanity couldn't hear the subtle worse qualities, but the other angels certainly could. And they toured for nearly twenty years, much to the chagrin of the three forced to listen to Michael "sing" for all that time.

They rewrote the chorus of "Double Vision" to be back to the way it was instead of the "Uriel Version." Uriel was very upset at this, but was easily placated with a really big hug.

"Actually," Raphael interrupted his two squabbling brothers, which he was very much used to by this point (although it put a very distraught look on Aziraphale's face as he realized he was no longer being respected), "we ought to begin by finding some way to destroy their weapons facilities. Humans are… awfully creative at findings ways of killing things." The Healer looked upset, and Michael rubbed his arm soothingly. "They have bullets now, blessed ones and cursed ones, which can kill us. That's what they shot poor Manakel with. I couldn't heal him… and now he's gone…" His brow furrowed; he was going to cry and was clearly trying to stop himself.

"So perhaps," Gabriel said awkwardly, trying to call attention away from Raphael but really not sure what he was planning on suggesting, "we ought to assign our respective investigative services to find out who, exactly, has rallied Humanity as a whole, and while they are gathering said information, we can strike wherever they are creating weapons."

"That sounds as good a plan as any," Samael said.

"How are they doing that though?" asked Dagon with a raised hand. Aziraphale didn't call him on this breach of conduct, having given up. "I mean the blessing and the cursing."

"There's clergy around that still hasn't turned on us," Michael replied with a shrug. "So the priests are willing to bless items to slay demons, and the Satanic priests are doing the same to kill angels. That hasn't changed. It's just that it's happening on a broader scale and with the intent to wipe us all out this time. You know, before only Believers were in on it and even then how many of them do you think went out to kill stuff? Now they _all_ are."

"So what ever happened to the Big Guy?" Azazel asked abruptly.

The angels all winced.

"I mean, he never shuts up about how great and powerful he is," the Archdemon continued with a sneer and a lack of reverent capitalization, "and since he could just twiddle his fingers and fix everything, why doesn't he?"

Michael scowled. "Because it's not, you know, prompting growth and stuff if Father does everything for us!"

"Because He is refusing to participate," Gabriel said bluntly, ignoring the gape that Michael gave him for telling that secret right-out, "He loves Humanity as well as us, and as such cannot bring Himself to choose a side. We are on our own."

Azazel smirked. "Bloody typical of him, isn't it?"

"Shut your mouth before I rip your blaspheming tongue out," Michael snarled.

In answer, Azazel stuck his tongue out at him.

Michael stood up to make good on his threat but was intercepted by Uriel, who had somehow pushed Azazel back far enough that he could fit between him and the table; Uriel had his hand clenched around Azazel's throat, angling it so that the Archdemon had to look up at the Archangel's passive-looking face. "This time, ye shall live only per this truce," he said quite calmly, "However, your next insult against Him shall be the last thing you ever speak, Azazel 'ăzā'zyēl _."_

"Erk," said Azazel. Crowley snickered.

"All right," Aziraphale began to sum up quickly, and Uriel let go of Azazel to go back to his seat across from an impressed-looking Belial, "so from now on, no Heaven-Hell violence, and while we try to find out who is in charge, we are going to destroy their abilities to create weapons that can destroy us. Does anyone else have any comments they want to make?"

"I want a unicorn," Uriel said authoritatively.

"A unicorn, or a pegasus?" asked Belial, who did not sound at all confused or put-off by this rather sudden request.

"Oooo, that is a very good point, Mr. Damned," Uriel admitted. "Maybe we can blend the unicorn and the pegasus together, so my horsey has both a really big horn and a really big pair of wings? I could ride it and go flying! How much fun would that be!"

"A unisus? Or maybe a pegacorn?" the aforementioned Mr. Damned suggested.

" _Oooo!_ I like _pegacorn!_ "

" _You_ can fly, Uriel dear," Raphael chimed in, "You certainly don't need a horse that can fly too."

"Oh, yeah, that's right… Well, maybe me and my pegacorn could go flying together?"

"Aw, that sounds like it could be fun…"

"And this conversation is inane, completely not worth my time, and I can't wait until this stupid war is over so I can go back to planning all of your deaths," Azazel snapped out before Descending.

Samael sighed. "I hate my life," the demon admitted, "but seeing as I live in Hell, I suppose that is par for the course." He also Descended.

 _"AH NOW I REALLY AM OUTNUMBERED AND GOING TO DIE!"_ Dagon wailed before mumbling sheepishly, "Thank you for the biscuits," and Descending.

Belial gave a great sigh. "Thank you for hosting; that it was such an unpleasant evening clearly had nothing to do with the setting, but rather to do with the topic and the company," he said with a wink to Aziraphale, who nearly swooned. He then gave Uriel a kiss on the hand. "Gentlemen, I bid you adieu." He, too, Descended.

Uriel giggled. "What a completely crazy Foul Reject of Our Father, who I have never, ever met before or repeatedly," he said fondly.

Aziraphale sighed wistfully. Crowley bit him on the side.

* * *

And so, after five more years, Crowley had been an angel for twenty years.

The longest twenty years of his life, to be more specific.

He had Risen, and, like anything, there were perks to this new way of life; for example, he now knew the words to every song ever. That was awfully convenient. And instead of receiving messages over electronic devices or via a brick to the head, he now received them in a soft glow of light or by a scroll on a silk pillow with a nice little chocolate mint on it. Other than that, being an angel did not feel so much different than being a demon had. This, in his estimation, made perfect sense – hadn't he always been a proponent of the idea that Heaven was just as bad as Hell? Following that train of thought, being an angel wouldn't be too terribly different or better than being a demon. And it hadn't been.

That being said, there were plenty of times that Crowley downright missed being a demon. And it had nothing to do with some masochistic need to be tortured or berated, or a deep-down desire to see Satan or Azazel or Dagon or any of those folks again. No, the long and short of it was that he missed being a demon because _it was the principle of the thing._ For over six thousand years he had been Anthony J. Crowley (or a derivative thereof), Serpent of Eden, Flash Bastard, _demon extraordinaire_ , and _now_ he was… well, he refused to allow anyone to call him Kireawel, that was for certain, so for now he was just… Crowley.

Don't get him wrong; being Just Crowley wasn't terrible. Instead of assignments to escort Antichrists, he now had to renew Aziraphale's newspaper and magazine subscriptions over "the confounded Internets." Instead owning his rarely-inhabited flat, he now lived in a quaint little cottage in the South Downs. Instead of fretting over the inevitable destruction of Humanity and all it meant for him, he had accepted that he would either cease to exist or would spend eternity with Aziraphale; and who knew, maybe they would be able to get out of watching _The Sound of Music?_ There were certainly more important things to be doing*.

Being Just Crowley wasn't terrible. But it sure as something was _boring_.

And, even worse, he was _bad_ at it.

Although underappreciated in his time by his peers, Crowley had thought he was an excellent demon. He had _understood_ the changing times, realized that Hell had to think broadly in order to gather souls, and even if his work had been scorned, he was sure the numbers would be in his favor. But he had been forced to become an angel, had no intrinsic motivation, no way to ascend the corporate ladder, and, should he stay put or move down said ladder (just so long as he didn't fall _off_ said ladder), no unending torture awaited him. All he wanted to do was nothing, but that wasn't conducive to being a good angel**.

Truth be told, being an angel again made Crowley miserable, but he was willing to pretend to be enjoying himself if only for Aziraphale's sake. He'd been through enough, right, and he didn't need an emo Crowley on top of it.

 _"Can't read my, can't read my, no he can't read my poker face_ ," the radio sang.

At this point in time he had been out grocery shopping, although the back of the Bentley was filled with miracled food. Crowley of course had never intended on actually purchasing groceries, and as long as he pretended to have gone shopping Aziraphale never called him on it. Also, there was very little food to be purchased anyway, courtesy of a very old-school-acting Famine. Sometimes it was more irksome that the Horsepersons had ridden forth once more…

He was listening to Lady Gaga's _The Fame_ , but no conclusions should be drawn from this as the Bentley had long ago stopped giving Crowley any right to what music he listened to. After ending its love affair with Queen, it had cycled through the Spice Girls, Japanese pop songs, nature sounds, and then on to Broadway musicals. It seemed to be content with its next phase, Disney soundtracks, but in the year 2009 it had gone back to Queen, repeating the song "Radio Ga Ga" until Crowley finally understood what was coming.

Crowley pulled the Bentley into its usual spot and didn't bother covering up his yawn. "This has been the longest day ever," he murmured as he stepped out, patting his car to congratulate it for another job well done.

" _Russian Roulette is not the same without a gun,_ " the Bentley informed him.

He sighed before walking away from it. He debated whether he wanted sex first and then sleep, or sleep and then sex. Both seemed like such good ideas; he vaguely wondered why he had never figured out a way to combine the two together somehow. It seemed almost unfair.

The door opened for him. His rather vivid fantasies were pushed firmly out of his mind by the fact that Aziraphale's mortal remains were laying on pristine white tiles. He froze. "Fuck," he said.

Aziraphale in all his angelic glory was standing behind the counter, leaning on it. He looked embarrassed, pained and exhausted. "Hullo dear," he said tentatively, "Welcome home!"

Crowley tore away his gaze from his angel's corpse to his angel's continued existence. "What happened? No, no, don't answer that, why are you still here? Shouldn't you be gone getting a new body?"

Aziraphale let out a very weak laugh. "About that. I… er… can't. Heh. Funny, isn't it?"

Crowley stared at him.

"But I'm sure I'll be just fine."

"You… _can't_." Thinking of a dozen mostly implausible and yet likely enough scenarios regarding reasons why Aziraphale would be barred from Heaven (Heaven's finally catching on that Aziraphale worshiped books and that he hadn't done any sort of inspiring since the Armageddon't Take Two, to name a few), Crowley's tone took on a dangerous glint to it. "Why not, exactly?"

If anything, Aziraphale looked more embarrassed. "Yes. Er. I can't. Well, I, er, died, in an… accident… and as such, I, er," the rest left in a rush, "have a cursed bullet in my stomach, so I can't heal myself and can't ascend."

Crowley approached him slowly, as if worried he was going to run if he came too fast, as if Aziraphale were a wounded animal. "You have a _what_ bullet in your _where?_ "

"What would you like for dinner?"

" _You have a_ _ **what**_ _bullet in your_ _ **where?**_ _"_

Crowley got around the counter now and could finally see the very present wound in Aziraphale's stomach; silver blood was dripping through his fingers. As he stared at it, Aziraphale muttered, "Well, I, er, got shot. By someone. And that someone… happened to know I was an angel."

 _"_ _Humans are… awfully creative at findings ways of killing things…"_ Raphael's voice echoed back to Crowley, _"They have bullets now, blessed ones and cursed ones, that can kill us. That's what they shot poor Manakel with. I couldn't heal him… and now he's gone…"_

"Holy bloody fuck," Crowley managed.

"Language, dear."

"Fine, you can't Asssscend, but _I_ sssstill can," Crowley muttered; his brain, as was its wont, refused to acknowledge just how serious this was. "Sssso I can drag you back up." He picked Aziraphale up. He was a lot heavier with the wings, even if his angelic form was in much better shape than he was as a human.

"Eep! This is so very undignified! And I can't imagine –"

Whatever else Aziraphale was saying was cut off as Crowley focused his Will and Ascended.

"You're going to have to tell me ssssomething-" he began, standing in Heaven's entranceway, until he realized there was nothing in his arms. "Well shit."

"Language!" a random angel chastised.

"Oh shut up."

Crowley returned back to the cottage to find Aziraphale lying on the floor on his back, where he had fallen after Crowley had disappeared. "Hi again," he said cheerfully enough, although he had landed on his wings awkwardly and was still holding his stomach.

"Well, that didn't work. Okay. We'll get you into bed and figure out what to do nexxxxt." Crowley picked him up again. "Sssso. Why in the twelve ccccircles of Hell did you let a human shoot you!"

Crowley considered himself to be the suave (ex) demon about town, the type who wouldn't freak out when his spouse had been shot in his home. As a result, even though his thought process had gone down the rather terrified, panicked track, he did not let it ruffle a single feather. He would _not._ He was too good for that.

Aziraphale winced. "Er, you know, I honestly didn't think she – or he! – was going to shoot me in the first place, _or_ that the human knew I was an angel, so I figured that I was safe, and I really honestly thought she – or he! – was here for money or some such," he let out a sigh of relief as Crowley put him down on the bed, stretching out his wings to make them more comfortable, "and so I assumed that if I just gave her – or him! – money, which we don't need, she – or he! –"

"Angel you are a _horrible_ liar! It was clearly a woman, sssso sssstop trying to pretend like you're being ssssneaky!"

"No guarantees it was a female," Aziraphale protested weakly.

"Sssso you let a human shoot you because you're a naïve idiot. Ssssounds typical of you. Who was it?"

… _omgwtfomgwtfomgwtfomgwtf…_ said Crowley's thoughts.

 _!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! s_ aid Crowley's heart-rate.

"Ooo. I am _not_ telling you."

"Azzzziraphale, who was it?" Crowley was _trying_ to keep the "because I will rip out her throat and shove it up her rear end" implication from his voice, but Aziraphale knew him too well.

"Crowley, it doesn't matter. It's all in the past now, and besides, she could very well have shot me in the face. I'm just lucky she chose to not make it a killing blow. Well," he amended, "it's still a killing blow, it's just a much slower death."

Crowley fists were squeezed so tight that he was drawing his own blood, even without his old demonic claws. "Sssso I really can't heal you, can I?"

"No." Aziraphale smiled ruefully. "You can't. No one but a demon could. The bullet… it feels like it's… poisoning me, for lack of a better term. Even if the bullet itself were removed, which would require going to a human-run hospital and the wings would obviously give me away, the curses have spread enough… Well. You understand; no need to spell it out."

Crowley growled back, "Azzzziraphale, sssstop acting like you don't give a shit that you're dying, because _I_ do and that means you are _not_ going to die, you hear me? I am _going_ to get that bullet out of you and I am _going_ to get you healed." At Aziraphale's pained expression, he amended, "Ssssomehow. You'll ssssee; you'll be all right. But… all thingssss considered, how can you really ssssay it doesn't matter who shot you? You might as well tell me because I _will_ figure out who it wassss."

 _MURDER,_ said Crowley's thoughts.

"She was upset, Crowley. Her daughter was a victim of Pestilence, and so she retaliated any way she could. While I don't condone her actions, I _do_ understand them."

That narrowed it down. It had to be a woman in town whose daughter had just died. Unfortunately, Aziraphale was too sociable for his own good and often served as a babysitter to the children of the town nearby now that there was no threat to his books, so that only meant so much to Crowley, who didn't pay attention to such unimportant details… "Shit," he murmured, "Fine, don't give me a name, but the bitch is dead."

"Crowely, _please_ don't do anything stupid or reckless or evil," Aziraphale pleaded.

That gave Crowley a brilliant idea.

"Angel, try to rest for a sssspell. I'm going to go out for a bit and ssssee if there's anything I can do. If not, I'll call down Raphael, who can at leasssst make you more comfortable, even if he can't heal you."

Aziraphale looked at him warily. "You have something asinine planned, I can tell."

Crowley reached over and pressed a finger to Aziraphale's forehead, Willing him to sleep. The angel, already exhausted and feverish, passed out. He left the cottage, locking the door behind him, and hopped in the still-warm Bentley, driving to London.

* * *

* Involving halos, as they had discovered to their mutual wonderment and enjoyment.

** Case in point, the only thing remotely angelic Crowley had done was "cajole" Amy Winehouse into going into rehabilitation. Of course, he only did this due to the challenge that her song presented. How could he resist it?


	4. How to Fell an Angel 101

The solution, Crowley felt, was utterly obvious. Only a demon could heal Aziraphale, so Crowley needed to be a demon again. Figuring that he had done the Falling thing before without even trying, surely when he put his mind to it, it would be a simple matter. After all, he had once been the Master of Temptation, Hell's Representative, The Serpent… If he Felled Humanity, he could certainly Fell himself.

He even grinned, figuring that secretly _wanting_ to be a demon again was a very good start, although apparently it wasn't good enough…

He chose London to be the site of his Falling because it had been where he had done most of his true evil demonic acts*, after all, and not just because he didn't want to affect the people of the South Downs and possibly incur the wrath of an angel who was a lot more perceptive than he led one to believe, especially concerning wiling anywhere nearby. Just because Aziraphale was mortally wounded did not mean he still couldn't make Crowley regret it. Crowley had learned very well to never, ever underestimate his counterpart.

To begin with, he parked the Bentley on Oxford (after, of course, making a point of going well over the laws of physics down it), turned off the ignition and sat back, waiting. He made his shades a bit darker just to make himself look more impressive, and for kicks he smirked evilly. A family walked by – three children with two adults – and Crowley turned the children's juice bottles into XL Super-Duper Quad-Caf Espressos. Merely two sips caused all three children to go into screaming convulsions as they ran down the road, chased after by their very confused and enraged parents. Just to drive home the point that he was doing this to be malicious, Crowley chuckled suavely and somehow diabolically, watching the children run into the walls of buildings with the evil smirk on his face.

Said smirk faded after a few seconds. Hmmm… Well, he still felt that sense of snuggles that one got being an angel, which likely meant he hadn't Fallen. Bugger.

He then clearly saw why: not long after taking their sips, the three children passed out from hyperventilating and their parents smiled fondly, commented on how plain _adorable_ their children were, shared a kiss, picked them up and walked off. They would spend the rest of the day with their unconscious children, so it was more like a day out for them, and as such they became a far closer couple.

Crowley frowned. Time to try something else devious…

He glanced into the rearview mirror and smirked yet again. There was an enormous Hummer traveling up the busy street, and he saw yet another opportunity. He depleted the Hummer of the rest of its gas**, forcing it to make an emergency parallel park… in midday traffic. Crowley inched back the car in front of the space the Hummer driver had chosen and inched forward the car behind it, just to make the Hummer driver that much more cautious and therefore slow. Before he knew it, an entire line of cars had stopped behind the achingly-slow-moving enormous vehicle as it moved centimeter by precious centimeter backwards and to the side, squeezing into that tiny spot. The waves of unadulterated fury rose from the streets like steam.

Crowley's pride at yet another job well done faded quite quickly as he realized that, yet again, that hadn't been enough to Fell him. After all, every person on that road that day decided that they were going to go out and buy the smallest, most ecologically-sound cars they could, just because this was clearly a monstrosity against existence. Pollution cursed the day Crowley was created, which resulted in Crowley receiving a Commendation from Heaven. It appeared on his passenger seat in a soft glow.

He frowned as he contemplated what to do next. Once upon a time this part of the job had been second nature to him – a quick manipulation there, a banana peel there, a glued coin over there – but for some reason the ideas weren't coming to him. He blamed being an angel, being sure to emphasize that he wasn't happy with this situation.

Hmm… Maybe he just needed to be around more people?

Scowling because he was on a timeframe, bless it, and he had hoped to do this with as little effort as possible – _Embracing **sloth** , in case anyone up there is listening! And I refuse to capitalize any of that rubbish anymore! Yeah! What now, huh! - _he waved his hand and made every car alarm on the block go off before speeding away to an area where there were more people to mess with.

It was good he hadn't stuck around to see the result, as it turned out that every unattended car parked on the sides of the road had been in the process of being stolen by the poor people stuck in the traffic jam, and they were all good enough car thieves that the alarms wouldn't have gone off had Crowley not set them off, and as such Crowley prevented mass burglary and received yet another Commendation.

In fact, the angel in charge of the Bureau of Commending the Angels of the Lord was quite pleased that after twenty years of nothing, Crowley had gotten two Commendations in one afternoon. "He really must be trying to please someone," this angel said happily, signing and delivering the reward notice. "What a nice young man! Oh, we had our doubts about him, but it's so wonderful to see he's fully reformed himself!"

* * *

* You know, like designing the M25 London orbital motorway, perfecting the fine art of affecting thousands of people at once with minor inconveniences, etcetera. Truly evil, terrifying things. Dastardly things. … Of course.

** Which wasn't so much of a miracle as it was just time passing.

* * *

Meanwhile, in a park in downtown New York, two old men sat playing a game of chess. One man was there because he enjoyed playing chess in parks; the other man was there because he had it on good authority old men played chess in parks. It was just what they did.

"I've been retired for ten years now and I am _bored_ ," the first old man moaned as he made his move. "I should take up a hobby. I was thinking of teenager-shooting."

The second old man was dressed in yellow-green* and was wearing a pair of glasses and a white lab coat which made him look smart, like a scientist or a doctor. He gazed at the chess board thoughtfully, debating his next move. "Well, that seems like a nice enough pastime," he admitted, "though the subtlety leaves something to be desired. I've been quite busy during my retirement. Lots of projects, but one in particular I'm quite proud of."

"I hate teenagers," the first old man admitted, "Always on my lawn. Bothering my cats. Teenager hunting shouldn't be illegal."

"Well, I don't discriminate," the second old man replied, looking at the first old man empirically.

"Good point. Anyone thirty and under then. Huh," the first old man coughed, "think I'm coming down with somethin'. Probably AIDS from one of those damn teenagers."

"You don't get AIDS from teenagers on your lawn," the second one responded knowledgeably. "That's not to say there aren't plenty of diseases that they _could_ give you, of course, but AIDS isn't one of them."

"Like Hell they don't! It's a conspiracy I tell you! All those AIDS passed on by those stupid teenagers, and the government telling you it's because of monkeys!"

The second frowned a bit. "Well, everyone has to start somewhere…" he said, looking a little embarrassed.

"Tell ya, God should just reach down," the man burst into a coughing fit but would not be deterred, "and smite 'em all!"

"Eh. Who needs God?"

"G – good point, nowadays… I'll do it m'self-"

The first old man collapsed to the cold ground, curling up into a ball and convulsing. The second old man leaned over to watch him thoughtfully, taking notes.

The first old man's skin began rotting as he let out low moans of agony. A minute passed and the second old man admitted, "Not bad."

"Oooooo, braaaaaaains," said the first.

"Could be better," the second admitted.

* * *

* He had once really been fond of white, but his replacement had taken to white as well and, honestly, made it look better than he ever could. He'd gone to green and the various shades thereof afterwards, which, in his estimation, made more sense anyway.

* * *

Crowley sat in a mall in London watching people walk by.

The shades and suit prompted plenty of looks of Envy and Lust. The pristine black 1926 Bentley parked in a new space directly next to the entrance prompted looks of Avarice as people walked past it to come inside. The miracles put on every vending machine in the shopping complex that turned every snack inside into a high-calorie, high-fat-content candy bar or a soda that was more sugar than liquid prompted Gluttony. In passing, every zipper broke, every high-heel snapped and every button popped off, prompting Wrath. And Crowley did it all from a bench, embracing Sloth and feeling Pride.

And yet, despite holding this new record of Creation's Worst Angel * even despite his two new Commendations, he had to scowl because that was Creation's Worst _Angel_ and not Halfway Decent Demon.

"Shit," he said aloud, in the hearing range of two more children sporting XL Super-Duper Quad-Caf Espressos, two It's Not Healthy But It's Good candy bars and no buttons on their trousers to speak of. The children instantly began screaming _shit_ at the top of their incredibly-loud-for-being-so-tiny lungs, much to the embarrassed chagrin of their mothers and the disapproving glares of the elderly people nearby. It was also to the secret amusement of their fathers, causing the not-so-secret irritation of their mothers.

Nope, still an angel.

"Satan bless it," he said.

Still nothing.

"God sucks," he ventured.

Still nothing.

Fists clenched, he stood up and coolly sauntered out of the complex, hopped inside his precious Bentley ("which would never betray me, unlike _some people_ ," he said pointedly to the sky, and nothing happened yet again), and drove off, peeling out into traffic and popping the tires of whoever had the gall to honk their horns at him.

 _"It'll be okay,"_ the Bentley sang at him.

Crowley turned off the music. The Bentley continued to sing, " _Da-da-doo-doo just dance!"_

 _"_ I can't even _dance_ anymore!" he hissed at the radio. The Bentley missed a beat before lowering the volume and still continuing to tell him it would be okay. He ignored it.

* * *

* The previous record holder had been Bobiel**, an angel who had never smote a demon, never once responded to a prayer, had failed two out of two attempts to prevent a person from committing suicide, had actually once been coerced by a demon into participating in illegal animal trades despite the fact that Bobiel had never left Heaven, and Bobiel also had a deathly fear of clouds. When the angel in charge of the Bureau of Angelic Rankings had noticed that Crowley had sunk below Bobiel, the elsewhere-located angel had sneezed (as one does when one is talked about from afar) and subsequently burst into tears.***

** Meaning: "God's Bob" or "Bob of God"

*** He and the angel in charge of the Bureau of Commending the Angels of the Lord found each other and cried on each other's shoulders. Of course, the latter angel had no idea who Bobiel was, considering Bobiel had never received a Commendation, but misery loves company (even in a place where misery technically isn't supposed to exist.).

* * *

 

Crowley, decidedly still an angel, glared and rested his head on his hands, sitting on the park bench in St. James' where he and Aziraphale still came to visit even though there were ponds much closer to their cottage now. They just didn't _feel_ the same.

The citizens of London were roaming around the park, walking with their children or huddled into groups feeding the ducks; all were blissfully unaware that Crowley's entire life was coming apart around him. He really wanted to make them suffer, make them _all_ feel the way he did – no, worse – but while he knew there were some things Aziraphale might condone in the name of saving his life, death or torment to innocents was not one of them.

 _This is true_ , said the voice inside Crowley's head that sounded remarkably like Aziraphale, the one that showed up every time something horrible happened in order to encourage him. _I wouldn't condone murder on my behalf. It's terribly cavemanish of you, dear. Not that cavemen existed, of course, but the point gets across doesn't it? Although that time you Damned someone for burglarizing my shop, now_ _ **that**_ _was perfectly acceptable._

Crowley sighed, accepting the internal cup of tea. "Haven't seen you in awhile," he said, hoping that a strange black-clad man sitting in a park talking to himself would at least make some of the people around him question their lots in the world.

 _Well yes, I have been quite busy,_ Inner Aziraphale reminded him, fetching himself some curd out of the cupboard, _raising a family and the whole bit. Little Victoria isn't so little anymore, it's sad to say, but such is life, it goes on. It's all quite doolally. So what's got you so down, dear?_

"The real you is going to die and there's nothing I can do about it."

Inner Aziraphale's jaw dropped. _Crickey riley!_

"Yeah," said Crowley. "Tell me about it. Killed by a human, and if I'd have just been there…"

_I say, old chap, that's just not cricket._

His frown deepened. "Yeah," he said again.

Inner Aziraphale recovered himself after sipping another cup of tea. _Well, there has to be some way around this, if I'm not dead. Have you asked –_

He quickly shut down that particular line of questioning and sighed again, pulling at his hair in frustration before smoothing it down and forcing himself to look suave. There were just certain things Crowley wasn't going to do unless utterly forced to, and asking… that guy… was definitely one of them.

 _That was so very rude_ , Inner Aziraphale huffed before going completely silent.

Crowley then flicked a finger and dunked all the ducks in the pond. It didn't make him Fall, and it didn't make him feel any better.

One of the drakes that had been dunked waddled over to him, setting himself down on a shiny black shoe. It quacked.

Aziraphale had named all of the ducks over the years, exercising the angelic penchant for creative names. This particular mallard was named Cosimo de' Medici, because he struck Aziraphale as being vaguely Italian and "rather pushy, one feels." Despite the angel's inability to justify such a thing ("Angel, does that look like a ferruginous duck to you?") the name stuck.

"Oh sod off," Crowley snapped back, "A good dunk now and then never hurt anyone."

Cosimo de' Medici ruffled his feathers and got comfortable on Crowley's foot.

"I wanted you to stop complaining, not take a nap," he grumbled.

"Do you have _any_ idea how often I've thought that same exact thing about you?" Cosimo de' Medici replied.

Angel and duck looked at each other. They continued to do so for ten minutes.

* * *

Meanwhile, in rural America, Johnny McWhistle was on a mission.

He was overall not a passionate man. He had no wife or children, no pets, and no friends. He didn't like to read, write, play games, or socialize. The closest thing Johnny had to a home was a beaver lodge that he used to fight the beavers over. Eventually the beavers had accepted him as one of their own, and residents of the nearby small town often spoke of the Beaver Man; allegedly, if you chewed on wood with your front teeth for five minutes, he would appear. This was not true.

All that being said, there was one thing that really got him going, and it wasn't beavers. Johnny McWhistle was a mycophagist, a mushroom hunter, a mushroomthusiast. He loved them all, ranging from _agaricus bisporus_ to _tricholoma terreum_. Like a good father he tried not to have a favorite, but like any real father he did. His personal favorite was the _psilocybe cubensis_ ; or, the "magic" shroom. The reason as to _why_ that is his favourite is likely quite obvious.

On this particular day, Johnny had had a little too much fun on a forest excursion to find his favorite fungus, and had found a few too many and had consumed them _all_. But he loved them so much, how could he refuse to eat them all? At once? Without any sort of break in between shrooms?

Well, that was what he had thought when he had found them. Now, after having actually eaten them, he wasn't thinking about that at all. In fact, he was curled up in a ball, muttering to himself, but _thought_ he was playing ping-pong with a walrus while on a cloud.

His beaver companions all sighed and went on their merry ways, for although they had come to terms with his presence, it didn't mean he still didn't smell something awful.

And that was how _she_ found him, as she knew she would. She tended to know these things, after all.

* * *

Cosimo de' Medici sighed, finally giving up waiting for Crowley to say something first. "Yes, Crowley, I _did_ just talk to you. But it's true! Every time I try to get you to stop complaining, you go take a nap. It's absurd, it really is."

"… … …"

"And I'm not letting you Fall for a reason, just in case you were wondering. I'm not going to say it's ineffable because that might make you snap; instead, I'm going to say that it's all part of a very crafty and well-thought-out Plan."

"So wait, you made me – _made_ me – Rise because if I didn't I'd be dead right now, right? But you said it yourself that if I didn't Rise Aziraphale would die too, and guess what, _because I'm an angel_ _ **he's going to die!**_ Stick _that_ in your Plan and smoke it!"

Cosimo de' Medici sighed yet again, getting more comfortable. "You used to be an optimist, you know. And what guarantee do you have he's going to die, or that you are going to die, or that anyone is going to die? Why are you giving up already?"

"And are you planning on fixing him?" Crowley demanded.

Cosimo de' Medici snorted, even though it sounded absurd coming from a duck. "Of course not. Besides, that's hardly an acceptable way to ask Me for something, mister. And don't think I didn't hear that whole 'I refuse to ask My Father for help' thing either."

Crowley gave Him a dark look. "Someone shot my angel," he deadpanned. "Excuse me if I'm not being _polite_."

The duck gave another sigh. "Everything happens for a reason. Your place isn't here, though. You should be with him."

"What good would that do?" asked Crowley helplessly.

Cosimo de' Medici waddled off, going back into the pond and swimming off on his duckish way.

Crowley sighed and accepted the inevitable, trying to ignore the severe irony that when he _hadn't_ wanted to Fall he had done so with very little effort attached, but now, when he wanted to… He sighed; there was no point thinking about ineffability, was there? Aziraphale would tell him as much if he were here.

Crowley trudged back to the Bentley, crawling inside and letting the car do the driving while he, for the first time, stared out the window.

Back in the South Downs' Cottage, Aziraphale was no longer asleep but rather was scowling at him when Crowley walked into the bedroom.

"It's nice to see that you don't get shot every time I leave," Crowley said wryly, giving a weak grin.

"Very humorous, _very_ humorous. And just where have you been?" Aziraphale demanded with such strength that Crowley almost forgot the bloodstain in the comforter was even there.

"Around."

Aziraphale crossed his arms over his chest and looked away. "Honestly now. I'm going to die and your first response is to go on a little vacation." If it wasn't Crowley's imagination, Aziraphale appeared rather hurt – well, besides the obvious, of course. Offended, more like. Well, both.

Crowley pursed his lips and then nodded to himself. Then he did the second thing he could think of in this situation.

He called his in-laws.


	5. Chapter Three

_At the Dawn of Creation, there were five little seraphim._

_The First was flaxen-haired and confident;_

_The Second was golden-haired and strong;_

_The Third was sienna-haired and serious;_

_The Fourth was crimson-haired and loving;_

_The Fifth was obsidian-haired and joyous._

_The LORD loved them all, for they were His Children. To show them His Love, He offered them each one gift._

Raphael looked absolutely horrified for a split second before putting on an extremely sweet, hopeful expression (and Crowley secretly felt relieved that Raphael was too distracted to blame Crowley and thus destroy him). "Oh look at you, my poor dear, you look like a ghost!" he exclaimed, crossing the room and sitting next to Aziraphale on the bed, "How are you feeling? Are you terribly uncomfortable? Would you like some water?"

"Actually, I'm faring better than I assumed I would," Aziraphale admitted softly. "Although I would like some water, if you don't mind."

"Of course you can have some water! Michael, go get Zizi some water."

Michael knew better than to question, and he scurried out of the room to follow this order.

While Raphael distracted Aziraphale, Crowley drew Gabriel out of the bedroom. "I have a plan," he murmured to the Messenger once he was certain Aziraphale couldn't overhear.

"Ah, it can speak. So, you are capable of independent thought as well? Or are you merely going to tell me your plan and then hide in the corner?"

"… … … I have no idea what you're implying by that. Anyhow, so the only one who could heal him is a demon, right? So I tried getting myself Felled but – wait, of course, Uriel, you're standing right there, can you do me a huge favor?"

Uriel brightened. "I _love_ doing favors!"

"I need you to Fell me. Sever me. Preferably without the smiting part at the end. It would really defeat the purpose if you did that."

Instantly the look darkened. "I don't think so," he said warily, "I mean, Daddy hasn't given me permission to, and if I did I should smite you afterwards, and besides, no freebies."

Crowley sighed but decided it'd be better to not waste time arguing it with him. "Fine. So-"

"I mean, I can Fell you and then smite you," Uriel continued, looking like a puppy that has accidentally soiled the carpet but has brought you your slipper, "or possibly even smite you then Fell you, although I'm not sure how and that's more Michael's thing."

"Yes it is!" Michael called back.

"It's all right-"

"Or maybe I could-"

"Uriel, hush," Gabriel said sternly. Uriel began wibbling, and Gabriel sighed and patted him on the head.

"So, my plan now," Crowley continued awkwardly, "I'm going to go to Hell and see if I can't find someone who would heal Aziraphale, ideally without any soul-sellings or sexual favours.*"

Michael from his place in the kitchenette gasped so exuberantly that he spilled the water on the floor. " _Can I go with you can I go with you please please please please ppplllleeeeeeeaaaassssseee?_ It'll be fun! We can go down there, bash a few heads, do, um, whatever it is you're intent on doing! Just like old times!"

"You are the last person he would want to take on an otherwise peaceful mission into Hell," Gabriel snapped at him. "We have a treaty with them, and you would inevitably destroy it."

"Aw c'mon! Treaties are for wusses!"

"You can't go alone," Gabriel said to Crowley, pointedly ignoring Michael's pleading gaze, "They have all the power down there, and might not cooperate with you. Raphael will certainly not leave Aziraphael's side, and these two," he gestured to Michael and Uriel with his head, "would surely end the Heaven-Hell peace accord within mere minutes of getting down there, which is something we cannot risk."

"Wait, what am I doing?" Uriel asked.

"As such, I will be going with you," Gabriel said authoritatively.

Michael's answer was a long, loud snort of derision. "And do what, exactly?"

"My presence will add weight to your argument," Gabriel continued, still ignoring Michael like only someone with thousands of years of experience could do, "and I will be able to aid you in acquiring whatever sort of payment is required. You know full well that, alliance or not, they will not simply agree to help you."

Crowley sighed. "I know. I figure some contacts I had _might_ , but really, I know better than to expect things will ever go smoothly."

"Awwww, he's all grown up now," Uriel gushed.

Gabriel regarded his two Archangel companions with an air of command. "Yes, I will go down to Hell in order to seek aid for Aziraphael. Uriel, you stay here and make sure Raphael does not discorporate himself in worry. Michael, return to Heaven and continue planning the next moves in this war. You know full well that Zerachiel is not well-suited to the task of warfare."

"I'm going too," Crowley grumbled half-heartedly.

"Raphy's in trouble?" Uriel asked, eyes widening, "But what am I going do to without Raphy?" Gabriel ignored him, which in turn led to Uriel fleeing to the bedroom to make sure that Raphael was still, in fact, not dead.

Michael's face fell. "But I don't wanna… "

Filling Crowley with a distinct sense of déjà vu, Gabriel looked to him and said imperiously, "I assume you know how to get into Hell?"

Crowley led him outside, silently wondering if the same person wrote all Archangels' dialogue**. He took a deep breath, looking down and silently wondering if this would even work now that he wasn't employed there anymore.

"HEY BE-"

A vortex opened up in the street beneath them and sucked down into the Pit.

* * *

* Not only because Hell's sexual favours tended to be painful and decidedly unpleasant, but also because Raphael would destroy his arse for "betraying" Aziraphale, even if it meant saving Aziraphale's life. Crowley considered Raphael far saner than his brothers, but that didn't mean he wasn't still crazy, and anyway Crowley also assumed that he wouldn't discriminate.

** Yes, the same person does: God.

* * *

Across the world, the human personification of the evils of war walked up and hugged the human personification of the evils of pestilence. " _You. Are. Too. AWESOME!"_ the first exclaimed. "I can't believe it! They die and then get back up and eat each other! How _freaking sweet!"_

"Aw, good," said the second happily, "I'm glad you like it!"

"I do as well," said the human personification of the evils of famine, "It's refreshing, watching them waste away so quickly. This is truly a spectacular virus you've created. If only Manchester hadn't imploded*… That would have been a fitting fate for that city."

"Why thank you," said Pestilence, hugging Famine, "I had you in mind as well. I had _all_ of you in mind while designing it. You were the inspiration for my greatest success, which is the way it ought to be!" He did not mention that he hadn't considered his replacement, because he didn't care about him. Harsh, but true.

THAT'S TRUE. THEY WITHER AND DIE, Death mused, BEFORE RISING AGAIN TO WAGE WAR ON EACH OTHER. I MUST SAY I'M QUITE PROUD OF YOU.

The human personification of the evils of pollution scowled, looking awfully put-out while being surrounded by noxious fumes caused by the pool of burning plastic he was standing in. The longer he stood there, the greater the fumes became.

Pestilence smiled widely, showing off his decaying teeth. "Also, enough time spent on Earth makes you realize something: what good is an Apocalypse without a zombie virus?"

* * *

* Which it did, quite fantastically. It turns out that some regulations are there for a reason. None of the Bikers shed a tear, however.

* * *

Aziraphale wasn't in pain anymore, thank the Lord for small favors. His father's talents had made him very sedated and peaceful, although he could still feel a faint tingling in his blood that was obviously from the curses flowing through his veins. He didn't even have time to wonder where Crowley had gone off to; he was now the subject of a constant angelic snuggle-fest – Raphael was always by his Aziraphael's side, stroking his hair, dabbing holy water on his wound, kissing his temple, and telling him stories to distract him. Aziraphale felt almost as if he had somehow returned to childhood.

"Thank you," he murmured, although it felt inadequate.

"Thank you for what, dear heart? For taking care of you? Don't be silly, my precious baby Zizi, you know that I only wish I could do more. Here, Uriel's been busy baking biscuits, and although you might think poorly of your dear uncle on occasion – I couldn't blame you given how he almost smote you that one time (oh wait, those two times) - he does love you and I'm sure you love him too, and anyway I must admit he is an excellent baker." Raphael broke off a piece of a freshly-baked chocolate chip biscuit and hand-fed it to his foster son.

Aziraphale smiled even as he chewed and swallowed; before having a chance to continue on his train of thought, Raphael held up a glass of milk and bade him drink a mouthful. Finally, after that was done, he was able to interject, "I hope you realize that a sign of my affection is that you are the only being in Creation whom I permit to refer to me as 'Zizi.'"

Raphael smiled brilliantly. "Why of course you do, dear heart, I _am_ your father after all." He pinched Aziraphale's cheek. "Oh, your uncles laughed at me when I first called you that, but you had such trouble with your own name when you were younger, which makes sense because it _is_ a rather complicated name, but if you look at what it means, it could mean 'God Heals my Strength' or 'Helps Heal God' or 'Strong Healer of God' – well, regardless, it's a lovely name… And anyway, you couldn't say it, but you _could_ say Zizi, and you giggled like nothing else the first time I called you that. Hmmm… Do you have any other stories you want to hear, love? I've got plenty, as you no doubt have noticed."

"Actually…"

Raphael smiled as he pushed a sweat-damp lock of curled blond hair off Aziraphale's forehead. "What's on your mind, dear?"

"I was merely curious," Aziraphale began, "as to how you and, er, Mr. Azazel came to be such, ah, mortal foes, as it were."

The smile dimmed a bit but quickly reasserted itself. "Oh, it went something like this:"

"Oh, you needn't-"

_Flashback_

"Mr. Azazel," Raphael said, placing down the plate of freshly-baked biscuits next to the pitcher of milk, "it seems to be the case that your activities in the area are causing some unhappiness among the humans, dear, and are unfortunately making Heaven very angry."

Azazel ate a biscuit, dabbing at his lips with a napkin politely. "Oh dear," he said, "I had no idea I was causing any trouble! Whatever shall I do to make amends?"

Raphael smiled. "Perhaps you could perform some community service, and then mosey on back to Hell so that you needn't hurt anyone else. That seems to be the best situation for everyone involved!"

Azazel also smiled. "Good idea! I think I'll do that! Thank you for being so sweet and reasonable!"

The two hugged and parted with a wave.

_End Flashback_

" – have a flashback. Oh dear."

"That is _exactly_ how it happened," Raphael said concisely.

"That's not how it happened," Michael chimed in from the doorway with a whisper. He had decided to rebel against Gabriel and thus was staying in the house instead of going back to Heaven, just out of spite. "From what I heard, he lost his temper!"

"You?" Aziraphale asked in surprise, looking back at his foster father, "Lost your temper?"

"Don't be silly, Michael dear, I never lose my temper."

"Yes he does," Michael replied, looking again at Aziraphale, "Yes he does, and I even heard him swear once!"

"Only once," Raphael was quick to point out, "and I daresay the situation called for it."

Aziraphale paled. "Was it… when…"

_Flashback_

Michael led little Aziraphael, who had just mastered walking, by the hand out into the outskirts of the Silver City. "Today I'm going to teach you to fly!" the babysitting Warrior said cheerfully. At this point in his life, Aziraphael was past the age when his body had outgrown his wings and thus he was going to have to relearn to fly. It was an exciting time in a young angel's life.

Aziraphael was a rare child among the angels of Heaven, as he had learned to talk quite well for someone who had only recently mastered walking. "But Faver says 'm too young to fwy," he pointed out, looking wary.

"Ah, he's just being overprotective! Flying's fun! When you're with your fun Uncle Michael, you do fun things!"

"Yay fun things!" Aziraphael agreed, no longer looking wary but now looking excited. "'ve got wings, and 'm gonna fwy!"

The two curly-haired blonds walked some distance, necessitating that Michael carry Aziraphael part of the way as the youngling's little legs couldn't handle the strain.

"Here we are!" They stood on a large cliff overlooking the City. "Look at that view!" Michael gushed, "What a great place to learn to fly!"

Abruptly Aziraphael looked terrified. "But I don' wanna go off the cwiff!"

"Aw, quit being a wuss!" Michael exclaimed cheerfully. He chucked the toddler off the cliff.

_"AAAAAHHHHH!"_

"Flap your wings more!" Michael called down. "Huh. I don't think he's supposed to fall that fast."

Raphael, who had been chasing them ever since Gabriel had told him of Michael's intentions, finally caught up with them. " _DAMN IT, MICHAEL!"_

"He'll be fine," Michael said with a confident smirk, "I mean, flying's just wing-flapping!"

" _HEEEEELP MEEEE! I'M FWAPPING MY WINGS AN' 'M NOT FWYING!"_

"He'll be fine," Michael said again.

Raphael was nearly snarling with rage. " _GO SAVE HIM OR ELSE I WILL RIP_ _ **YOUR**_ _WINGS OFF!"_ He pushed Michael off the cliff.

_End Flashback_

"I can't believe you pushed me off," Michael sniffed. "And you _yelled_ at me and I nearly had a heart attack. And even worse, Aziraphael hasn't called me 'Uncle' since." He pouted.

"I _told_ you I thought he was too young to be flying," Raphael replied primly. "You deserved it, you truly did."

Aziraphale had a haunted look on his face. "I was flapping them so hard," he whispered, "but I wasn't flying…"

"And now he's having flashbacks," Raphael mourned, returning to snuggling his Zizi, "Michael, get out before you make them worse."

Michael, pouting harder, left the room.

* * *

In Hell, Belial's handsome features were twisted into a scowl. "Listen, I know why you're here. Word travels fast. But I can't help you."

"Of course _you_ can't," Gabriel drawled. "We were looking for someone of some use to heal my nephew."

"Oh Gabriel, only you would waltz into someone's office, demand something of them and then insult them. It's refreshing. And anyway, _no one_ can help you." He looked back to Crowley and gazed at him like someone gazes at someone who they know is about to get whacked by the mafia. "It's Satan's – All Hail Satan! – Decree that no one dares give you any sort of aid for anything."

"Is this a sort of generalized you, or…" Crowley ventured.

"No, it's a _you_ , Crowley, Formerly Crawly, the Serpent, etcetera, that we're all expressly forbidden from aiding. You're on a very short list that includes exactly one other person, and you probably know exactly who that one other person is, but we're also not allowed to say his name down here at all. But this angel happens to also be related in part to the healee, so that's double the reason why. Anyhow, the answer's no."

Unfortunately for Belial he happens to be awfully short *, and so when Crowley picked him up by the front of his rumpled business suit** he was lifted off the floor a good couple of inches. "Lissssten Bel. You know I liked you. That being ssssssaid, I will sssstill rip your faccce off unlessss you direct me to ssssomeone who _can_ help!"

Belial did not look impressed. "Uh huh. Sure. Listen, I _can_ get you an audience with Him, but that's all I can do. If it doesn't work out, you don't owe me, but if it does, I'll get a favor from you sometime. Deal?'

Crowley let him go. "A favor for a favor. Deal."

"Oh joy, this was just what I needed," Gabriel deadpanned, "another stupid curly-haired blond to deal with."

* * *

* Fully aware of this, he crafts his dark-red hair into sticking up in spikes like a character from an RPG in order to give himself a couple more inches in height. Except, of course, for the occasional "clientele" who prefer their men on the smaller side… and for his secret personal seductee, who happens to be even smaller than he is.

** Actually, Hell has a business-formal dress code while in the office. Of course, Belial's suits were all made of silk and managed to somehow be extremely form-fitting and yet extremely relaxed and comfortable at the same time, giving him that sexy disheveled look.

* * *

"Hiiiii-yah!" Uriel cried, charging at his opponent. "Pwah! Shap-pow!"

Michael allowed himself to get hit. "Not bad," he said, "but… Well, here." He took the sword from Uriel, turned it around and took off the sheath, handing the hilt back to the smaller Archangel. "There you go."

"Ooooo," said Uriel before swinging it and somehow managing to break Michael's nose despite using a blade, making him fall to the ground. "Ah ha ha ha ha! Now that Michael has been defeated, the stage has been set for me to destroy Heaven once and for all! _ALL SHALL FEAR ME AND DESPAIR! GWA HA HA HA-"_

Michael, who doesn't feel pain (or at least would never admit to doing so), swung his feet out and connected behind Uriel's knees, felling him instantly. He then rolled and pinned Uriel down and began tickling him mercilessly.

"Eeeheeheeheeeheee stop it Michael stoooop iiiiiiit!" Uriel squealed in glee.

"Never!" Michael cried, sparing a moment to stop his nose from bleeding.

"Ahahahaha it's cheating 'cause you're not ticklish!"

Finally Michael abated, sitting back up and letting Uriel crawl away. "It is _not_ cheating," he protested with a pout, "It's exploiting your perfectly acceptable weakness."

"Being ticklish is not a weakness," Uriel retorted, sticking out his tongue.

"Is too."

"Is not."

"Is tooooooo."

"Is noooooot. Michael what are we gonna do?" Uriel asked suddenly, his gaze turning concerned.

Michael's look matched Uriel's. "Huh? What are we gonna do about what?"

"Weeeell our precious baby Zizi is going to die, and even worse is that Raphy is never going to forgive himself if Zizi _does_ die and ooo I can't imagine eternity where Raphy is sad, I just can't, that would be the worst thing ever!"

Michael frowned. As His Second, typically it was Michael's job to fix these sorts of problems, or at least be _able_ to fix these sorts of problems. Feeling helpless was something that Michael was simply not used to. "I know that there's not much we can do, but there is a whole bunch of stuff that we definitely should do! We can make this as easy for Raphael as possible."

"How?" Uriel asked, eyes wide and looking ready to learn.

"Well, we should do things like clean the nest, or distract them, or do whatever Raphael asks us to do. You know, stuff like that."

Uriel gasped. "Ooo. I know what to do now!"

A few minutes later, Uriel and Michael, both looking nervous, came into the bedroom where Raphael and Aziraphale were still stationed.

"We – " Uriel began, looking at Michael.

" – thought we could maybe cheer you up – " Michael continued, looking at Uriel.

" – with a song – "

" – because that's what we're supposed to do when we're sad,"

"sing about what makes us happy."

"Aww," Raphael said happily, stars in his eyes. "How sweet!"

"You really needn't…" Aziraphale began weakly.

Michael and Uriel began to cheerfully bop back and forth as a familiar waltz began playing in the background.

"Choc-o-late pudding and really big rabbits," Uriel sang.

Michael continued with, "ticking off Gabby with all my bad habits; slaying a demon with really taut strings," to this end he pantomimed decapitation via string.

"These are a few of our favourite things!" they sang together.

They took each other's hands and began doing the angelic approximation of a waltz.

"Smiting some demons, and really long noodles," Uriel sang, his voice growing more confident.

"Ice cream and chocolate and kicking caboodles!"

"Plucking the feathers from all the Damneds' wings,"

"These are a few of our favourite things!"

They began dancing again, even as Raphael continued bopping back and forth to the music and Aziraphale stared on in terror.

"Nice comfy sandals that don't give me rashes,"

"Huge swords and small swords and big corn beef hashes," but from the look on Michael's face he didn't so much like big corn beef hashes so much as couldn't think of a word that rhymed with rashes.

"Sweet mournful sounds of Unclean souls begg-ing,"

"these are a few of our favorite things!"

"When my head hurts," Uriel sang, smiling brilliantly.

"when Lu-lu cheats," Michael also sang with an identical smile.

"when I'm feeling sad,"

"We simply remember our favourite things, and then we don't feeeeeeeeeel so maaaaaaad!" "That was delightful!" Raphael cheered, applauding.

Aziraphale however was not so convinced. "Yes," he said, mildly horrified. *

"There's an entire second verse, but we're having trouble with it," Uriel admitted, "It's _hard_ thinking of all that stuff!"

"Well, okay, we've got-"

"You know, I think it's time for my nap," Aziraphale lied sweetly.

* * *

* That being said, Aziraphale liked it. He really did. He had no choice.

* * *

" _My Child, light and fair, what is it you most desire?"_

_The first angel smiled broadly and said, "I want to be respected and admired by all, so that I bring Glory to You, Father!"_

_And so he was named Lucifer, Son of Morning, and made the Light-Bringer, the Morningstar, and became His Second. He was the most glorious of all the angels, and through him others knew of the Lord's Shining Splendor. He was Content, and the Lord was Pleased._

Of course _he_ knew they were coming and had prepared accordingly, in that he was dressed in a business suit worth more than Crowley's or Gabriel's soul on the black market. This was, oddly enough for Crowley, the first time he had ever entered into Satan's presence without some deep, uncontrollable terror… In fact, Crowley found himself unimpressed by his old boss.

"Sir," Belial said, bowing (and Crowley closed his eyes in order to avoid the powerful urge to stare at that lovely behind), "I recently received these two visitors in my offices, and they requested an audience with you."

"And you permitted them, I see," Satan purred, looking over his two angelic visitors, "Smart move. An Archangel is not a guest you reject, especially in such times as our little Alliance. Come in, Gabriel, Spot; have a seat. Belial, fetch the dignitaries from Heaven something to drink, would you?"

"Aye, Lord." He left the room for the time being.

Gabriel moved ahead of Crowley and took a seat across from Satan. Crowley shortly followed suit once he realized that Satan was talking to him. Spot? Really? He supposed it meant that Satan didn't consider Crowley worthy of having a name anymore. Probably because of that whole Rising thing…

"Lucifer," Gabriel said flatly, quickly, "we do not have time for small-talk or false pleasantries. My nephew is dying and we require one of your servants to heal him."

"Your nephew…" Satan mused, a thoughtful look coming over his exceptionally handsome features, "your nephew… Oh, right, Raphael's brat. Which one was he, in the battle? The one who killed Beelzebub, is that right?"

"During a time of war and with the aid of Raphael and Uriel, yes, that was he. However, we are now in a time of peace, of an alliance, and unless you want to risk losing to Humanity over a single Principality, I suggest you ignore your injured pride for the time being and allow your servants to cooperate with us." Gabriel's face was drawn and hard; he clearly knew he was bluffing.

So did Satan. "See, here's the thing, Gabe-"

"Do _not_ call me that," the Messenger hissed. "You sound like Michael."

Now that Gabriel mentioned it, Crowley noticed that the two even looked alike, except Michael was larger and Satan had paler hair and eyes. Weird.

Satan shuddered. "Don't _ever_ compare me to that, that oaf."

"Do nothing to warrant comparison and I shall refrain from doing so."

At that point Belial came back in, pouring three glasses of champagne.

"All right, _Gabriel_. The fact of the matter is that I can do absolutely nothing for Raphael's ward and nothing will come of it. We all know, as his death is not demonically influenced, that it won't break the treaty." He smiled congenially. "So why _should_ I help you?"

"Because why _wouldn't_ you?" Crowley demanded, finally finding his voice, "This is the perfect opportunity for you to have some Archangels owe you a favour! Why the He – crap would you refuse?"

Satan's expression abruptly changed from "sadistically amused" to "coldly infuriated." "Because it would benefit _you_. You _punched_ me in the _face_."

Crowley was wary at the quick change of mood, but was still confused. "When did I do that?"

"During the Apocalypse Take Two. _You_ punched _me_ in the _face_. If I hadn't been so distracted at the time, do you even understand what would have happened to you?"

Crowley, who remembered that now, was suddenly too terrified to respond and Gabriel was rolling his eyes at demonic posturing, so Satan used the opportunity to pull down what turned out to be a large poster from the ceiling – it detailed every layer of Hell. "You see, you got your first nine layers," Satan used a laser pointer to refer to them, "and then there's the Tenth layer, the Fangirl Layer, and the Eleventh Layer, the Mary Sue/Gary Stu Layer, and now, you see, this is the mystical Twelfth Layer I created for all of you involved. You aren't special enough to get your own layer, but you and your angel buddies can have plenty of fun in the super amazing Twelfth Layer, where you will spend eternity choking to near-death on your own excrement, among other more fun and exciting things."

For the first time, Crowley felt very proud of himself for having chosen angelhood.

"And then," Satan continued quite animatedly, "I also _finally_ finished the Thirteenth Layer, known as the Michael Layer."

"Oh come now," Gabriel muttered, "you know full well he'll be thrilled to know he's got his own layer. He certainly doesn't need the encouragement with regard to his ego."

"Thrilled until he gets down there," Satan corrected. "Trust me on that one. Anyhow… You know what? I think I _will_ help you out. I'm sure that there's something I can find for you two to do for me… But I do have a condition."

The Adversary grinned and snapped his fingers. Suddenly Crowley was no longer sitting next to the Messenger, but rather instead was sitting next to a… a –

He jumped out of his chair and threw himself backwards.

"What is _your_ problem?" Gabriel sneered.

Satan laughed. "I turned him into your greatest fear," he snorted, looking over his desk at Crowley, "and trust me when I say I never expected it to be a _mongoose!"_

Gabriel jumped up so he was now sitting on Satan's desk as a shining chestnut-coloured mongoose. "Excuse me? You have turned me into a mongoose? _That_ is your 'condition?' Are you honestly older than I am? This is absurd."

"I turned you into his greatest fear," Satan corrected, "because _I_ want _him_ to do all the work and be miserable while he does it. But don't ask _me_ why he's afraid of a weasel."

"Okay, as charming as this conversation has been, can we get to the point? Name your task, because I'm in a hurry," Crowley snapped, trying to stop his heart palpitations at the presence of a snake's predator.

Satan smirked and sat back down, propping his feet on his desk. "You know," he drawled out, "now that I think about it, I have no idea what to do with you. I never really figured I would get two Heavenly servants gift-wrapped so nicely…"

"Actually, Lord Satan," Belial chimed in, "if you can't think of anything, I do have an errand they could run for me…"


	6. Paradise Thwarted by JAMoczo

Back in the South Downs cottage, Uriel glanced around furtively before sneaking into the bedroom. Aziraphale tried his best to quell the convulsions, smiling at his uncle. Raphael had taken a quick reprieve to go make some soup for the two of them. "Hello there."

Uriel tiptoed over to the bed, crawling on it. "Hi," he whispered, "I've got a secret, and I want you to feel better so I'm gonna share it with you."

"I promise I won't tell."

Suddenly a lump of warm, soft white fur was in his lap.

"This is Aziraphael! She's a celestial bunny!" Uriel squealed.

Aziraphale stared at the rabbit in shock.

Celestial bunnies ( _Caelestis_ _cuniculus)_ are a particularly large breed of lop-eared rabbit; males can reach up to 35 pounds, while females tend to average approximately 25. Their silky soft coats range in colour from a bright white to a dark gray, which is ideal for camouflage with the clouds in Heaven, and many of the rabbits have some sort of holy symbol (crosses, Omegas, doves, etcetera) in the fur on their forehead. They also purr like cats, and make adorable noises that angels can understand. Their most distinguishing characteristic, however, is that all celestial bunnies have halos, much like their angelic owners. Once they reach maturity, they can also read minds.

Aziraphael the Celestial Bunny was just a baby, and as such was only about fifteen pounds. She was fuzzy, white, adorable, and had a very faint gray chalice symbol on her forehead.

"Er… Really… you… named the rabbit after me?"

"Huh?"

"… … …"

Aziraphael the bunny looked up at her owner with light blue eyes. Her nose twitched with her curiosity.

"The rabbit has the same name as I do," Aziraphale explained.

"Well, she's a baby," Uriel replied as if that explained everything, gathering the bunny up in his arms.

"… … … Uriel, not all babies are named Aziraphael," Aziraphale replied a little helplessly.

"What?" Uriel asked, looking lost, "Then what's her name?" He and the rabbit stared at each other.

"Er. Well. She can be named anything you want her to be named."

"I like the name Truffles," Uriel said with finality, rubbing the fluffy bunny between her floppy ears.

"Fair… fair enough… But why is she a secret?"

Uriel's brow furrowed, and he looked both scared and as if he might cry. "Ohh, you can't tell anyone this, but…" he lowered his voice to a whisper, "she was a gift to me from a friend."

"Why is that bad?" Aziraphale whispered back.

"He's… well… a good friend… to _me_. But. Um." At this point Uriel was whispering so softly he was less whispering and more mouthing. "He's not a good friend to the Lord."

"So he's a demon?"

Uriel nodded, hugging Truffles tighter.

Well, _that_ was odd, Aziraphale had to admit, looking at the Severer in a new light. Uriel had befriended a demon? How completely ineffable. And yet… wait a minute, hadn't one of them been quite amorous with him? * "Uriel, your friend wouldn't happen to be named _Belial,_ would he?"

Uriel's beautiful amethyst eyes widened in surprise. "How did you know that?" he breathed.

Aziraphale struggled for some sort of advice to give. Telling Uriel to stay away from Belial, who was obviously only looking for fornication, seemed awfully hypocritical. Besides, it wasn't as if Uriel couldn't take care of himself, should the need arise. Yet there was still a deep desire to see Uriel remain unharmed. "Never mind that, dear. Just be careful with him, all right? You never know."

Uriel smiled brightly. "Mr. Belial is really nice to me! He compliments me and brings me gifts! I like him!"

"How long has he been doing this?"

Uriel looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Um. It's been a _long_ time. Um. I don't know!"

A wave of exhaustion passed over Aziraphale and he smiled at Uriel sleepily. "I'm sure you'll be… fine…"

Uriel's expression changed to worry. "Um, are you okay?"

Raphael was in the room instantly. "Zizi? Are you all right?" He placed his hand on Aziraphale's forehead and bit his lip in worry when he didn't get a response.

"Is he going to be okay?" whispered Uriel.

Raphael took a moment to compose himself. "Of course he will, Uriel dear. Why don't you and the rabbit go outside with Michael?"**

Uriel took the newly-named Truffles the celestial bunny out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Raphael slid onto the bed, resting his head on Aziraphale's shoulder. He closed his eyes and stroked his foster-son's hair, completely at a loss.

* * *

* Aziraphale had only recalled this because of how intensely jealous he had been at the time.

** Raphael, as any good older brother would in this situation, already knew perfectly well about Belial's attempts at seducing Uriel. He had even had a discussion with Belial on the matter. It went like this:

Raphael: Now then, Mr. Belial, I'm going to trust your intentions with Uriel are good.

Belial: (amused snort)

Raphael: If they're not good _now_ , they _will_ be. As such, I feel it necessary to warn you that he is not… very… er, what's the word…

Belial: Sane?

Raphael: … … Yes. But he is very sweet. He is also quite affectionate, so long as you don't, er, cause him to be otherwise. I have one very, very important piece of advice. If he ever asks you what the most amazing, wonderful, special thing ever is, the answer is always, _always_ – are you listening to me?

Belial: Raptly.

Raphael: Something cute and fuzzy. Bunnies, kittens, puppies.

Belial: … … …

Raphael: Next is sweets.

Belial: … … …

Raphael: And after that is purging the Unclean.

Belial: … … … … … … So it goes bunnies, chocolate, and then my death.

Raphael: ^_^ I'm sure you'll do fine, dear.

* * *

Hell had, not long after Heaven had revealed its "Operation: Christ" plan, begun to formulate an opposing plan entitled "Operation: Antichrist," which no one thought was particularly witty but no one could rename satisfactorily. The idea was simple: send up a humanesque extension of Satan to demoralize Humanity so as to make them more susceptible to fighting each other and Heaven's forces when the End came, as well as lead the Four Horsepersons on the path to destruction. This "Antichrist" would also oppose the Christ during the Apocalypse.

The First Antichrist, through a series of events that led to a policy of not trusting any lower-level demons with extremely important tasks, was a failure. He had become attached to Humanity and ended up opposing his very creator in the quest for destruction not once but _twice_. In fact, in the end, the First Antichrist hadn't been directly responsible for the death of anyone but directly responsible for the survival of the entire human race.

Deciding to embrace an "it's broke so let's fix it" mentality, Hell tried again after the First rebelled against his Creator.

The Second Antichrist was raised by a group of Satanic monks. He rarely spoke as he never had the inclination to speak to his companions and the monks didn't mind so long as he obeyed their instructions. Every day he was taught his academic lessons by the monks, and failure was not an option for him. He single-handedly performed any repairs to the temple himself. As a result he grew to be very intelligent and extremely physically capable. He was also taught in the ways of weaponry; mostly bladed weapons, but also blunt weapons and even the occasional artillery.

When he turned eleven, it was decided that eleven was really a young age for him to embrace his purpose, even though he had inherited the powers from the First Antichrist already. As such, his education was broadened to include the use of his newly acquired occult powers after the First Antichrist had been assassinated, as opposed to him going out on his eleventh birthday and beginning the End. The Second did not feel guilt at the idea that he had, in a sense, caused his predecessor to die; Adam was merely the first step on the path to destruction. With Adam's death, the Second could Feel the lock on the humans that prevented them from recalling the two Apocalypses that they had almost been destroyed by; he removed it and looked forward in glorifying in the chaos to come.

He was also gifted with a hellhound, as per the course, which he christened "Exitium." It was larger than a pony and had poisoned fangs dripping with blood down its massive jowls. He himself was never given a name other than "Antichrist;" however, he was allowed to, when the appointed time came, give himself a name.

What needs to be said is that he was conditioned a little too well. While the First had become too attached to life, the Second had no attachment whatsoever. He cared not for the Plan or the Anti-Plan or even plans in general. He wanted to fulfill his purpose of bringing about the End, but not in the way that he was expected to. He wanted destruction. He wanted chaos. He wanted an end to all things, including himself. His Purpose was to lead Hell to victory, but he did not want any victors in the war to come. He wanted total and complete annihilation.

When the time came for him to go to Megiddo on his twentieth birthday, he wasn't there. Instead, he, newly named Evilosoth the Conqueror, Destroyer of Worlds, was spending his birthday doing his favourite thing – killing things.

* * *

"This is absurd," Gabriel sneered. "Can't he catch his own?"

Demonic rabbits _(_ _Daemone_ _cuniculus)_ are smaller than their distant celestial cousins, with males reaching a maximum of 25 pounds and females tending to only reach 20. Their wiry, often-times spiky fur can come in many different shades, but most common are black and rust. Unlike other lagomorphs, Demonic rabbits are not herbivores; their favored food is the flesh of imps. Their ears stick straight up, which makes it easier for them to hear oncoming prey and predators. They also breathe fire.

"Sloth demon," Crowley pointed out.

Gabriel the mongoose was still not allowed to come into physical contact with Crowley for fear of giving him a panic attack, and thus he settled to grooming himself to deal with his frustration. Crowley definitely didn't find it fair that with Rising he had lost his cool serpent eyes yet still hissed when he forgot himself and still had this ingrained fear of mongooses. Stupid instincts. Apparently when you spent about six thousand years afraid of something…

Gabriel tersely replied, "Ah. I see. Catch one quickly then."

The Demonic rabbits didn't like Crowley. A lot of it had to do with the fact that Crowley was the Serpent and therefore one of their few natural predators. A lot more of it had to do with the fact that Demonic rabbits hate everyone who isn't a rabbit.

"Oy, m' name's Jim, 'n' I'm the Rabbit 'erder. You 'ere fer a rabbit?" demanded a large, bright-red demon with the classical horns, forked tail and hoofed feet, "'cause if ye're 'ere fer a rabbit, it'll cost ye. Cost ye a _lot_ , m' rabbits do."

"We're here on behalf of Belial, Archdemon of Sloth and Lust," Crowley said tentatively.

"Ahh. 'eard Belial's been lookin' fer rabbits in other places, which's a slight 'gainst me and m' rabbits. Now 'e's sent someone t' get 'is rabbit 'stead of comin' 'isself."*

"The, er, Archdemon is very busy," Crowley replied cajolingly, "but he meant nothing against you or your rabbits. I'm sure he'll be willing to pay you."

The rabbits in question were gathered around a very unlucky still-living demonic victim, who had apparently angered the wrong person. All twelve of them had perked up, watching the exchange with interest.

"'e better," Jim snapped back, "'though it ain't so simple, angel. 'ere in Hell we _work_ for our Demonic rabbits."

"Define what you mean by 'work,'" said Crowley, who had been Belial's employee due to a common fondness of sloth.

Jim pointed to the herd of rabbits. "Iffoo wan' a rabbit, ye gotta catch one."

"That seems doable."

"And ye have to do it in five minutes."

" _What?"_

"I close the rabbit pen in five minutes," he said authoritatively, "so iffoo wan' a rabbit, ye got a time limit."

"That's stupid! You're the Rabbit Herder, why don't you-"

"Four minutes 'n' 30 seconds."

Crowley burst into a sprint.

* * *

* You might ask: where did Belial get a _celestial_ bunny from? All he'll say is that he "convinced" an angel – a rather poor one, he had to admit – into "giving" it to him. The angel, whose name was Bobiel, had, after giving up the bunny upon somehow being approached in Heaven by the Archdemon, burst into tears. Belial had been completely confused, but didn't mind because he had gotten what he wanted.

* * *

She was not physically strong and thus could not move him far, but she got the mushroom-overdosed young man comfortable underneath a tree, his head resting on a patch of moss. She covered him in the blanket she had brought for him and eased herself down into sitting next to him.

The bag she had brought the blanket in also contained a large book, filled with what looked, to the untrained eye, to be nonsense. She placed it on her lap, opened it up to the very end, and pulled out a pen.

The feverish, drugged young man began whimpering and whispering. "The Revelation of Jesus Christ, which God gave him to show unto his servants, _even_ the things which must shortly come to pass: and he sent and signified _it_ by his angel unto his servant John…"

She smiled and began to write.

* * *

"Good job with that, kids," Satan said sardonically. "I almost didn't think you could pull it off. Catching rabbits is tough business."

Crowley, covered in third-degree burns and numerous rabbit-inflicted wounds, did not appreciate his ex-boss' sarcasm. Belial had taken the captured-with-exactly-two-seconds-left rabbit and had mysteriously vanished.

"Yes, yes, of course," the mongoose on the floor snapped back, "now uphold your end of the bargain or make some petty excuse as to why you cannot just yet."

The Emperor of Hell smirked. "Option B. So, I thought of a decent task for you to do, no rabbits involved."

"Oh. Joy. Shall we be serenading demonic panda bears?"

"Just talk," Crowley murmured, ignoring his petulant companion.

Satan gave a theatrical sigh, the garnet-coloured liquid in his glass swishing but not spilling. "Do you recall Dante's _Inferno?_ " he asked rhetorically, as he continued without giving them time to answer, "It did get a few things right. One of those things is that I am currently imprisoned, and at the time, it was in the Ninth Layer. Well, to be fair, what you are seeing in front of you _is_ me, but that which is imprisoned is more like my own Presence, or my soul, or my essence. It's complicated and spiritual and not the point. The point is that there is a reason I don't create Layers of Hell willy-nilly, as every time I do, my essence, that which keeps me trapped here, is moved to where it would cause me the most pain. As if it weren't enough that no demonic being could free me! But, as you likely guessed, your next task will be to release my own Presence. I had total freedom during the Apocalypse-Take-Two because the barrier between Earth and Hell was destroyed, and I _liked_ it."

Gabriel's mongoose jaw dropped. "Never!" he sneered. "We would – it would be like twenty years ago, when you nearly destroyed us all!"

"Except," Satan corrected gamely, "my initial focus would be on destroying the Humans, certainly _not_ hunting down and butchering Michael. I'm a good little boy, eating my dinner before my dessert."

"You said it wasn't in the Ninth Layer anymore," Crowley reiterated, voice dull as he realized this was his only option. "So where is it now? Michael Layer?"

"Shut _up_ you _imbecile!"_ Gabriel snapped, "Do you even _realize_ what you're offering to _do?_ "

"Yes, I do. I'm saving Aziraphale. That's all I give a shit about right now."

"Oh, yes, of course, how easily I forget that you're the one willing to do anything for one lesser angel so that we can _all_ be destroyed in the end."

Crowley gritted his teeth. "It's _ineffable_ now isn't it!"

"I. Hate. That. Word."

"Me too, trust me."

"Interrupting now, 'kay thanks," Satan chimed in smoothly, "the answer is _no_ , my Presence is not in the Michael Layer, nor the Layer you will all be in one day. After all, the eventual sight of your torment gives me hope. No, my essence is trapped somewhere worse. Somewhere far, far worse."

All the blood drained from Crowley's face. "No," he whispered hopelessly, "No, please, no."

Smiling in a way that only the base of the word "sadistic" could do, Satan flicked a finger and turned Gabriel back into his normal, beautiful self. "Don't look so glum, Sparky – my essence has been trapped there for _hundreds_ of _years_. You don't even want to know what they've thought of me doing. In that form, no less; you know, the one with the multiple heads and wings? Apparently it's very easily slashed with Cerberus, even though Cerberus has been dead for twenty years. Who knew?" Of course his much lovelier form was also slashed easily but Satan tried to not think of _that_ too hard, considering the Layer's rather odd fondness of what could be considered as slashy twincest.

Gabriel's gray eyes widened as he Understood. "No," he echoed Crowley's sentiment, "Absolutely not. I refuse to-"

"And I'll even make sure none of those crazy Hell aura energy stuff bothers you while Down Here like it would bother any normal angels. Bye now!" Satan waved cheerfully as they disappeared to the Tenth Layer of Hell.


	7. Chapter 7

The doorbell rang.

Uriel paused the movie he and Michael were watching, _Return of the King,_ opened the door, and instantly looked frightened. "I don't think so," he whispered, looking back into the cottage, "I don't think it's a good idea. You'll make him cry."

IT'S NOT LIKE I HAVE A CHOICE. BUSINESS IS BUSINESS. YOU KNOW HOW IT IS.

Uriel nodded. "Yeah, I guess you're right. But… do you _really_ have to?"

URIEL. YOU KNOW THE ANSWER TO THAT.

The penitent-looking Archangel obediently stepped back.

* * *

" _My Child, sweet and gentle, what is it you most desire?"_

_The redheaded angel smiled and said, "I want everyone I love to be happy and safe, Father. I want to show your Love to the world, and help those in need of Your Aid. I want to teach those I meet how to best help themselves and each other."_

_And so he was named Raphael, Healer of God, and he was made the Healer and the Knowledge-Bearer. He was the humblest and kindest of the angels, and through him others knew of the Lord's Never-Ending Love. He was Content, and the Lord was Pleased._

"Leave," Raphael said somberly without looking up. He was wrapped around the one Death had come for.

SIGH. I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN YOU'D BE HERE. RAPHAEL, HOW OFTEN DO WE HAVE TO GO THROUGH THIS? YOU CAN'T SAVE THEM ALL.

One moss-coloured eye opened up. "Leave _now_ , Azrael."

IT IS HIS TIME.

Raphael began glowing, six large pairs of red-gold wings moving to shield himself and his son from view. Raphael was every inch an Archangel of the Lord as opposed to the normally mild-mannered angel.

" _LEAVE NOW, AZRAEL."_

It was a Command, filled with power. Death attempted to step forward and found that he could not move any closer to the bed. He frowned as effectively as something without skin can. YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS. YOU'RE RUINING THE NATURAL ORDER, THE WAY THINGS ARE. ARCHANGEL OR NO, YOU CAN'T STOP ME.

Raphael's response was a snarl and increased tightening of his arms and wings around his near-death son.

LOOK AT YOU. YOU'RE ALREADY EXHAUSTED. HOW LONG DO YOU THINK YOU CAN KEEP ME AWAY?

"Forever if I must. You will _not_ have him."

Death sighed and shifted awkwardly, still unable to get any closer to the bed. Even irritated, he had to admit the Archangel was showing some remarkable willpower. ALL RIGHT. I'LL BE BACK. YOU DON'T HAVE MUCH TIME, SO SAY YOUR GOODBYES. He turned and left the room.

And Raphael cried.

* * *

Death sat down on the couch between two of his better suppliers. THAT ONE HAS ALWAYS BEEN A PEST, he admitted, taking some popcorn, ALWAYS TRIES TO APPEAL TO MY SENSE OF GUILT. HE'S NEVER BEEN SO CRAZY ABOUT IT BEFORE, THOUGH.

"You have a sense of guilt?" Michael inquired, chewing. He paused the movie again. Uriel pouted, as he was a very big fan of _The_ _Lord of the Rings_ and was upset they were getting interrupted yet again.

NO, ACTUALLY. I REALLY DON'T KNOW HOW HE DOES IT. IS IT WEIRD, THEREFORE, THAT I WANT TO GO GIVE HIM A HUG?

"Raphael is the best hugger in Creation," Uriel advised sagely, taking some popcorn.

Michael nodded in agreement, taking another handful of popcorn.

QUIT HOGGING THE FOOD.

"Go make your own," Michael retorted.

YOU GO MAKE YOUR OWN.

"I will fight you." It wasn't a threat; it was a statement of fact.

"Quit arguing!" Uriel cried out, looking as if he was about to burst into tears. Both other beings went silent. "Um! Azrael, are you _sure_ there's no way to, you know, not kill our precious baby Zizi?"

OF COURSE THERE ISN'T. AND REALLY, HIS NICKNAME IS ZIZI? THAT'S HILARIOUS. REMIND ME TO MOCK HIM ABOUT IT… OH, WAIT, I WON'T BE ABLE TO. PITY. ANYHOW, LAST TIME I WAS ABLE TO NOT KILL HIM BECAUSE OF A FAVOUR I OWED TO THE ANTICHRIST. I NO LONGER OWE ANY SUCH FAVOURS. HE WILL DIE WHEN RAPHAEL GIVES UP. HOPEFULLY SOONER RATHER THAN LATER BECAUSE I'M ON A SCHEDULE, AND LET ME TELL YOU, IT'S BEEN HECTIC.

"That sucks," Michael muttered, looking uncomfortable. "You'd think Gabe and A. Crow would be back by now to let us know how they're doing…"

Death shrugged, eating some more popcorn. I COULDN'T TELL YOU. HELL'S NOT IN MY JURISDICTION.

Uriel's eyes widened and he sat up straighter excitedly. He knocked over the bowl of popcorn in his glee; Michael miracled it back onto his lap and refilled it. "Oh! I know! I have a friend now! I can ask him!"

* * *

From all appearances, Belial was definitely a demon. Most obviously, his ears were elongated to a point and his eyeteeth were just a tad too short to be considered fangs. However, he also had a sense of grace about him, an otherworldly poise, that gave away he wasn't human. The fact that his overall appearance – unkempt spiky red hair*, an otherworldly-comfortable silk suit and a pair of small designer sunglasses – made every creature capable of sexual urges want to jump him gave away that he certainly wasn't an angel.

Everyone save one wanted the Archdemon of Lust. Belial only wanted the one.

Initially he, like every demon, had come to loathe the cold violet eyes associated with the merciless being that had Severed him. But those eyes continued to haunt him, taunt him, _call_ to him. He began to yearn, wanting the only creature beyond his reach. Behind those eyes was an innocence begging to be taught the ways of the world, and yet there was a danger that was begging to be surmounted.

Millennia of planning, fantasizing and, yes, practicing had led him here, to the Ultimate Target, the Greatest Challenge, the Impossible Seduction.

"I got you a present," Belial purred to Uriel, holding something behind his back.

Uriel's eyes lit up. "I _love_ presents!" he breathed.

"It's a friend for Aziraphael." Belial presented his hard-earned gift.

Uriel clapped delightedly at this newest addition to his kindle. He took the Demonic rabbit from Belial, holding it to his chest and smiling with joy. "Oh! But I don't know what to name him! His name _should_ be Aziraphael, but Aziraphael's name is now Truffles, and so New Aziraphael should be named something else, or else that could get awfully confusing for them…"

Belial had been planning on suggesting the name Crawly for this newer bunny, but quickly changed his game plan. "Well, then his name should be Java Chip," he suggested, looking smugly pleased at how well his gift had gone over. "Java Chip goes with Truffles."

Uriel looked into the yellow eyes of his new black rabbit. "Java Chip…? I like it! It fits him!"

"Just be careful with him," Belial advised, "He can breathe hellfire, after all."

"Silly Mr. Belial," the angel chastised, producing a large red ribbon bow and tying it around the complacent rabbit's neck, "As if _you_ know more about _bunnies_ than _I_ do."

"Touché," the demon admitted. Belial was very well acquainted with the Severer's prodigal knowledge of rabbitry. He had, after all, been attempting to seduce him for millennia.

* * *

* Think Reno from _Final Fantasy VII,_ as opposed to anything any real hair can do. I have no idea why he looks like that, he just popped into my head one day looking like an even sexier Reno and who was I to refuse?

* * *

_Interlude: How to Seduce an Angel 101_

Uriel and Belial had first met outside the Gate to Hell, not long after the Fall.

Belial had hissed at the unexpected angel. To his shock, the angel had started to cry.

"Ooooo, I'm no good at this!" he had wailed, clutching a large pair of keys to his robed chest, "Daddy said I had to overlook this place but I don't really _want_ to and it's scary down here and everyone's so _mean_ to me!"

Belial had relaxed and blinked at the angel repeatedly. "You look really familiar. Wait a minute, aren't you…?"

"My name's Uriel," the angel had sniffled. "You look familiar too, but then again, _all_ of you do, so that's not a surprise. Anyway, I'm here to, er, watch over this place. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be doing or anything like that, so it's kinda weird and vague and I don't much like it. But, you know, Daddy says do stuff, so I do stuff."

If he could have seen the look on his own face, Belial would have been ashamed of himself; it was a look that clearly betrayed his inability to connect the (extremely _short –_ no, not just short, _small_ ) depressed angel in front of him with the fiery, glowing being that had cruelly Severed him not long ago. " _You_ are Uriel," he said. "The Severer. _You_."

"Mmmhmm. Well, I do lotsa other stuff too. But Michael-"

Instinctively Belial had hissed at that name.

"-says Severing was the coolest thing _ever_ and so I should tell everyone about it when I see them. And you know, I told you my name, it's only fair you tell me yours, Ba'aliel. Er. Your _new_ name, I guess, if you have one."

"I go by Belial now."

"… … … That's easy to remember!" the angel had exclaimed. "Waaay better than changing your whole name, like Lucifer did. That makes it really complicated, and I have a hard enough time remembering names even without people having two of them. My name is Uriel."

Thus was the beginning of a completely incomprehensible relationship.

It continued a thousand or so years later in the place eventually called Penuel. Belial had been bored and roaming around Earth, only to come upon the Archangel who guarded the Gate. Oddly enough, this time the short, slender angel with his large violet eyes was… limbering up?

Belial was more than used to the oddities of this angel, as they had often conversed over the millennia. However, the sight of the angel stretching and flexing non-existent muscles struck him as profoundly erotic and _perplexing._ "What are you doing?"

The angel looked thrilled. "I'm gonna _wrestle_!" he exclaimed.

"Oh? And who is the lucky man?"

"Ummmm… his name is Jacob," Uriel said, "or maybe that's _my_ name."

"It's not."

"Oh. Poo. You know, Uriel is such a weird sounding name. Who needs a _u_?"

"I need you," Belial replied suavely, winking.

Uriel giggled and fanned himself. "Oh, Mr. Belial, you're so silly. Oo, look, there he is!"

Jacob, Son of Isaac, walked over to where the two hidden beings were conversing. He knelt and began to pray for a blessing.

"That's my cue!" Uriel sang, making himself visible to the patriarch. "Greetings, Servant of God. I am a Divine Servant of Him whom you commune with. We hear your desire for blessings. We challenge thee to earn them."

And so they wrestled. Really, it wasn't all that exciting – Jacob clearly had Uriel beaten in terms of size and physical strength, but the angel was just that, an angel, and held his own. Belial got bored fairly early on and took a nap, not even aroused enough to keep awake. When he woke up at dawn, the two had just finished their wrestling bout, with Jacob looking weak and Uriel looking as pristine as he had before.

The human said his name was Jacob and asked Uriel for his. Uriel replied, glowing in his full angelic glory, "I have come down to earth to make my dwelling among men, and I am called Jacob by name."

Belial face-palmed.

The two met yet again when Belial was being punished and forced to wipe blood off the doors of the Jewish people's homes, which would thus render them susceptible to the plagues going around Egypt. He ran into Uriel, who had been assigned to assure that the doors still had blood on them.

"This is _nasty_!" both of them complained in unison.

"Oh, hi Mr. Belial! What are you doing here?"

"I'm taking the blood off the doors."

"But I'm making sure the blood is _on_ the doors!" the Archangel squealed, "You just messed me up!"

"It was nothing personal, I really didn't have a – oh crap."

" _WORTHLESS VERMIN OF THE LORD. THY ACTIONS HAVE DISPLEASED BOTH ME AND MY FATHER; PREPARE TO BE REMOVED FROM –"_

Belial wisely took that as his cue to descend.

Uriel sighed and stormed back to the first house, starting over.

Some time around the year 1800, Belial came up with what he thought was a brilliant idea: his "friend" Uriel liked rabbits. He also liked chocolate. So, therefore, a chocolate bunny would be the perfect gift.

"Oh _wow_! It's chocolate, in a _shape!_ " Uriel exclaimed.

"That's right," Belial said cheerfully, "it's chocolate in a shape."

Uriel held it up and looked at it from every angle before his face took on a confused expression. "But it's a bunny," he said plainly.

"… Yes." Belial's smug expression faded.

"It's a bunny. But it's made of chocolate."

"… … …"

"Well I want to eat the chocolate, but I want to pet the bunny. Oooo, the chocolate looks so tasty and sweet and yummy, but the bunny! The poor, poor bunny! Would that be cannibalism? I don't know!"

Belial realized he had made a very critical error. He surreptitiously tried to change the rabbit into a different shape but was rewarded with a startled cry of " _CHANGE IT BACK CHANGE IT BACK!"_

" _OH,"_ Uriel lamented, " _OH WHAT DO I DO?"_

Throughout time, as the obsession grew, Belial became more and more interested in seducing Uriel as opposed to just being amused by the odd angel. It was a surprisingly easy yet surprisingly difficult task – easy in that giving Uriel chocolates and rabbits led to glomps and becoming the confidant of a completely bizarre creature, but difficult in that seducing Uriel seemed to be synonymous with befriending him… in a purely platonic matter.

For both of their safeties they had "agreed" to keep their "relationship" secret between them; how well that actually worked is subject to debate.

* * *

Back in the present day, Uriel continued gaily, sipping at his hot beverage, "And so _I_ suggested that we all make the houses into solid chocolate, and isn't that a great idea? I think it is but that meanie Metatron shut me down, which made me so sad. But I didn't cry and that makes me so proud of myself."

"But if your house was made of chocolate, you couldn't eat it or else you'd be homeless. You should have everything _else_ be made of chocolate," Belial replied reasonably. Java Chip the Demonic rabbit had started humping his arm, and thus had been banished to sit with Truffles the Celestial bunny. Java Chip looked dejected as Truffles nibbled on some grass sweetly.

"Yeah, but then I'd make myself another house. I _love_ chocolate. Well, I love lots of things, but especially chocolate."

Belial saw his opening. "Have you ever been covered in chocolate?"

Uriel looked guilty. "Raphael says I'm the sloppiest eater in Creation. I'm not allowed to wear white anymore."

"No, no, no. I meant, have you ever been drizzled in chocolate sauce, or painted with chocolate body paint?"

"But if it's on the rest of me, then it's not in my mouth, and that defeats the point," the Archangel replied with confusion etched on his delicate features.

"Well, then you could be the one painting someone else."

"But again, then the chocolate doesn't end up in my mouth..."

"It does if you're the one licking it off."

Uriel still looked confused. "But why have a middle man? Why not just move the chocolate from the container to my mouth?"

"Because if you're licking it off someone, it feels good to them, so you're getting to eat the yummy chocolate while making someone else feel good."

And then Uriel asked it.

"So it feels good to get licked?"

Belial smirked.

"But when I licked Gabriel he complained a lot. But it wasn't _my_ fault he was covered in cream cheese. Oh, wait, it was. But still!"

"Aw, that Gabriel is stuffy."

"Do _not_ insult the Messenger," Uriel snarled.

Belial held up his hands in a placating gesture. "It was a compliment, actually," he said smoothly, "Someone has to be very stern or else nothing would get done. But it's not conducive to getting smothered in cream cheese." Belial added another note to his mental notepad.

Uriel daintily sipped his hot chocolate. "I see."

"Anyhow, about the licking, yes, it does feel good. I could demonstrate it for you, if you'd like." Belial had the hardest time keeping his eyes completely innocent of any sort of implication.

"So wait, would I be licking it off you or you off me?"

"It could go either way. I wouldn't mind."

Michael walked over to the nicely-set table, miracled a chair, and sat down. He crossed his arms and glared at Belial pointedly. *

"So okay, I guess I would be licking-"

"Puppies," said Belial.

"I love puppies!"

Michael did not stop glaring.

"They wag their ickle tailses and ooo they're so cute and if they could purr they'd be perfect!" Uriel gushed.

"Now Uriel," Belial said congenially, pouring Uriel more hot cocoa, "what was it you wanted to ask me about?"

"I wanted to ask you something?"

"Yes, you did," Michael said, still looking at Belial, "You wanted to ask him about the Nerd."

Uriel looked at Michael thoughtfully even as he miracled the warrior angel a mug of hot cocoa. "Which one is he, again? Your nicknames are funny but they confuse me."

"Aziraphael," he reminded him.

"Oh! Right! Mr. Belial, my little, er, nephew, I guess, is really hurt bad, and only a demon can heal him 'cause of the curses, so if you could maybe heal him so he doesn't die and so Raphy stops being so sad – and a sad Raphy makes _me_ sad, and a sad me makes me cry, which gives me headaches, which makes me even _sadder_ , and then I cry more, which makes the headaches worse and-"

Belial winced as he realized he was about to lose a lot of the seduction territory he had gained **. "I'd _like_ to help you, Uriel," he said tentatively, "but we're under orders to not heal any member of your… er, what would you call it… your group."

"Nest," Uriel said, his eyes looking downcast. "So you really can't help our precious baby Zizi?"

 _He is the cutest thing ever,_ Belial had to admit. _Which makes the fact I'm going to get in his robes even weirder. Oh well._

He shook his head. "No one can. But don't worry, once Crawly appeases my Master, your… precious baby Zizi… will get his healing. I'll even do it myself."

"And I wonder how many sexually-transmitted diseases you'll infect him with," Michael drawled.

"Thank you Belbel!" Uriel cooed, glomping Belial.

He sighed. It was the most action he'd be getting.

* * *

* Like any good big brother slash body guard, Michael also knew full well about Belial's attempts at seducing Uriel. They had even had a conversation about it before. It went like this:

Michael: Listen, I know that the only person in Creation better suited to wiping you from existence is him, but if you hurt my Little Buddy, I will smite your sorry arse so hard that what I did to your boss will look like a walk in the park. You hear me?

Belial: Loud and clear. … Did it ever occur to you that tiny little Uriel could just Sever you on a whim?

Michael: … … Maybe… Yes. And it horrifies me.

Belial: That's what I thought, too.

** Which had amounted to very little, as even Belial had to admit that Uriel was some sort of black hole of sex.

* * *

"So tell me, what punishment are they subjecting the poor fangirls to these days?" Gabriel inquired after he and Crowley had Descended and began walking towards the main stronghold of the Tenth Layer.

"The worst possible, of course," the former demon replied, "No matter what, their OTP is always _wrong_."

"… Their what?"

"OTP. One True Pairing. It's a big deal for a fangirl. You'll understand once we arrive."

"As if the fangirls ever did anything _wrong_ ," Gabriel scoffed as they got closer to the large reinforced fortress that housed the fangirls, "They were just too enthusiastic for everyone's good."

"You say that now…"

" _OH MY GOD IT'S CROWLEY!"_ shouted a fangirl on lookout. She ran back to warn the others. A huge horde of females raced out of the keep, all screaming with joy at the sight.

Crowley sighed. This happened every time.

"And who is that he's with?" asked another excitedly.

" _OH MY GOD IT'S GABRIEL!"_ screamed another.

"What?! No!" cried out a section as one voice, "Crowley is supposed to be with Aziraphale!" Instantly about half of the section killed themselves, although they were soon brought back.

"No he's not, he belongs with Pollution!" exclaimed another section, the members of which also tried to kill themselves.

" _CROWLEY/BENTLEY OTP! CROWLEY/BENTLEY OTP!"_

"This is the best day ever; he's with Gabriel!" squealed a fourth section.

Gabriel looked horrified; Crowley expected it. Crowley was not allowed per the rules of the Layer to assert that he actually had ended up with Aziraphale *, but he was certainly encouraged to quell the happiness of the fangirls whenever applicable. "Gabriel here and I are not a couple."

" _NOOOOO!"_ screamed the fourth section, whose members subsequently tried to kill themselves.

"It's okay, because Gabriel is obviously meant to be with Michael," asserted another section of fangirls.

" _Michael?_ " protested Gabriel and another section. The section continued, "Michael is with Lucifer, obviously! 'The only one to defeat you' obviously means 'the only one to shag you!'"

" _Michael?_ " Gabriel said again, a look of utter horror on his face. "Absolutely never!"

" _NOOOOO!"_ screamed the Gabriel/Michael fangirls, who then tried to kill themselves. The Michael/Lucifer fangirls pointed at them and laughed.

"Oh admit it, you think he's hot," Crowley scoffed.

Gabriel snarled back, "If you ever want to copulate with – why can't I say his name?"

"Because that would give the fangirls hope."

"Ah. Well, if you ever wish to copulate with anyone again, you'll take that back."

"But it's true!" wailed the Michael/Gabriel fangirls, "All of the insults are obviously just how you express your deep-rooted lust for Michael!"

"No it's not, because Gabriel belongs with Crowley!"

"Crowley belongs with Aziraphale!"

"Pollution!"

"Pollution and Famine!"

"Famine and Pestilence!"

"Pestilence and zombies!"

"We need to leave now," Gabriel said.

Crowley said, "Agreed."

As the two walked off, one fangirl shouted after them, "Where are you going! You can't leave until you make out!"

Crowley threw back over his shoulder as the two waded through the eternally-feuding fangirls to go deeper into their abode to try to find Satan's power source, "Edward or Jacob?"

A vicious war broke out.

* * *

* The authoress dares you to guess which group of fangirls she will be with when she dies.


	8. Chapter Six

Evilosoth the Conqueror, Destroyer of Worlds finished destroying this latest battalion of angels without too much effort on his part. It was sort of his thing.

He had confronted them in a city square, having walked upon them as they were Gomorrah'ing* the city. Not caring one way or the other as to whether or not they accomplished their goal of destruction, he decided to see how effective his Antichrist powers were against real angels for the first time. It turned out they were very effective.

"Would you look at that," breathed one human male survivor.

Slowly but surely the humans who hadn't been destroyed came out to see their theoretical savior. Evilosoth the Conqueror, Destroyer of Worlds started to clean his blade of angel blood.

"Our hero! He saved us from the evil angels!" exclaimed another.

"What's your name, son?" asked an old man.

He told them.

"Wow, I find myself filled with trust and admiration for you, Evilosoth the Conqueror, Destroyer of Worlds," said a teenager.

"Me too! Let's help Evilosoth the Conqueror, Destroyer of Worlds out! He's obviously on our side!"

Evilosoth the Conqueror, Destroyer of Worlds shrugged. Apparently the Antichrist charisma drew humans to him whether he wanted them or not. It didn't matter, really; humans weren't much of a challenge anymore, and while he didn't want followers, it didn't seem worth it to get his sword dirty again yet.

* * *

* _Not_ Sodom'ing. That's a completely different thing.

* * *

In a bar in southern France, two demons were sitting and getting drunk. Considering that there were no humans left in the city, they weren't hiding the fact that they were occult beings.

"Oy, so ye think we can beat all of the Humans?" asked the first well-to-do demon, "There's a bloody good deal of them."

"We're the powers of 'ell!" exclaimed another one, chugging a mug of virgin blood *, "First we'll kill all the humans, and then the forces of Heaven!"

The first demon looked wary even as he sipped some tea. "I dunno… There's a lot more of them than there is of us."

The second demon smiled broadly up until it didn't have a head. To be fair, it still smiled, but the head was on the floor and the first demon couldn't see it there, considering in a moment he lost _his_ head.

The one who decapitated them cut holy symbols into their back with a sword before leaving as easily as it had come. No one else in the bar even saw the cloaked figure leave or come in; however, rumors of the Dämonverderben, the Demonsbane, were still plentiful.

* * *

* Like most people, demons don't actually enjoy virgin blood, nor does it do any good to drink it. But it certainly _looks_ evil.

* * *

The inside of the fangirls' stronghold looked very similar to how the outside represented it – a fortress. "So where are we even going? There's nothing in here that's out of the ordinary," Gabriel said, gazing impassively around the stone floors and walls with their erotic tapestries.

"Well," Crowley said, "up or down, I guess. He _used_ to be encased in a lake of ice so maybe down is our best bet?" Gabriel calmly strode to the staircase that led down. Crowley sighed and followed. "So admit it, you _do_ think he's hot," he said.

"I think no such thing," Gabriel scoffed. "He's an incompetent fool."

"But a really attractive one, am I right?" Crowley teased.

Gabriel's frown deepened. "Even if I _did_ find that incomprehensibly moronic simpleton attractive-"

"You should tell him," Crowley interrupted.

Gabriel stopped on the step and fixed Crowley with a glare. "Ah. And I've finally met the one that Father has assured existed – the one creature actually more Michael than Michael himself. _Tell_ him. I would rather rip out my tongue. Do you even know what such information would _do_ to him?"

"It's obvious he likes you too," he said with a shrug. "It's the juvenile 'annoy you to show affection' method, but there's no mistaking it."

Gabriel snorted in derision. "Regardless of any sort of reciprocation, confiding in him would inevitably result…"

_"I find you attractive," said Gabriel._

_Twenty years of touring had inevitably taught Michael a dance move or two and he began to move to a familiar beat._

_"Sing anything Foreigner and die."_

_The music instantly changed from "Hot Blooded" to –_

_"Oh, if you want my body and ya think I'm sexy, c'mon sugar tell me soooooo!" Michael sang, dancing a simple move that involving a lot of hip-swaying._

_Gabriel face-palmed._

"… in that."

Crowley nodded. "Yeah, that's about right. All right, maybe it's better if you _don't_ tell him that."

"Exactly. He is a buffoon and an ox, even if he does… … … have lovely buttocks. * So." Gabriel paused at the bottom step. "Ah, I see the décor has changed."

At the bottom of the staircase was a veritable plain of lava riddled with small pathways made of rock. "Huh," said Crowley, "I guess so. Lava is the new ice."

* * *

* Voted Best Arse in Creation since the vote's inception! **

** With Satan in second (much to his rage) and Belial in third. ***

*** And, actually, Aziraphale has consistently outranked Crowley as well. ****

**** Crowley has not complained about that for a very long time.

* * *

"And I saw four angels," Johnny McWhistle muttered, "and they went to the four corners of the earth and of the Abyss… And Serpent fought with Serpent, and the Dragon was unleashed and the world trembled…"

"Ma'am?" one of the woman's advisers asked her, slowly approaching, "would you like us to take him back to headquarters, or…?

She shook her head. "No thank you. We'll be fine here. A spot of tea would be nice."

"Of course, ma'am." He nodded to her and left.

She continued writing. This was getting quite interesting, she had to admit, although it was a bit hard to concentrate with all of the curious beavers staring at her.

* * *

Gabriel's scowl returned and doubled in intensity as he found himself curled up on the stairs, once again a mongoose. "Ah. Now that the fangirls can no longer pair-"

"Slash."

"What?"

"Fangirls slash you with people."

"... Every time you open your mouth, I find I respect you less. And as I was saying, now that the fangirls can no longer _pair_ me with anyone, being as they are not here, my true physical form obviously lost its usefulness to Lucifer. You are going to carry me throughout this quest of ours."

"Ngk."

"And you are going to do so with no complaints and absolutely none of this ridiculous phobia business. Lift me up, slave."

With shaking hands, Crowley reached toward the silky brown mongoose that was glaring at him with slate-gray eyes. And those sharp teeth. And those snake-killing claws…

Crowley miracled a large pair of tongs and picked Gabriel up by the scruff of his neck. The mongoose hissed and flailed before going still.

"When you inevitably," he spat, "fuck up your second chance," (Crowley felt chills when Gabriel actually _swore_ )"at Redemption and you Fall due to your gross ineptitude and uncanny ability to fail, I, personally, will hunt you down, and… Well. I shall require time to plot your demise – time which I doubt I shall have given your level of incompetence – but rest assured, it will hurt you. Oh, will it hurt you."

 _Nothing worse than what Raphael was planning on doing to me if I dumped Aziraphale,_ Crowley admitted to himself, starting to walk off with the mongoose still tong'ed.

"Release me from these tongs," Gabriel demanded. " _Now_."

"I can't hold you in the tongs and cross this plain of lava at the same time," Crowley admitted more to himself than to Gabriel. This would require a lot of jumping on his part, and as much as he would like to accidentally stop squeezing the tongs and let Gabriel fall into lava, he recognized that was likely not going to go over well with some other people. So he let Gabriel go, and the mongoose crawled up his body (being sure to shove his claws in as much as possible) before curling around Crowley's neck like a scarf. Crowley broke into a cold sweat but clenched his fists to help him save face.

"All right. Now then, straight in the distance I can see there is a door with a very large heavy lock on it, and to the right there is another door with no lock. I am certain of course that our true path lies through the door with the lock, but we shall have to get the key to that door through the door with no lock. Now get going, slave."

"Thank you so much for wasting my time," Crowley drawled.

"Your very existence is a waste of _my_ time."

Crowley is very lithe and flexible, and as he jumped from suspended-in-lava platform to suspended-in-lava platform he did so with speed, grace and accuracy. He certainly wasn't attempting to dislodge Gabriel.

"Hey," exclaimed Gabriel, and Crowley twisted in the air in order to avoid getting hit with a lava spurt. He landed on the next platform, which instantly began sinking, so he sprinted across it and jumped, quickly landing on the next one.

When he made it to the platform connected to the unlocked door, he quickly strode to the door. That is, at least, until said platform began rumbling.

"Look. Jump."

Crowley pushed off the side of the platform, released his wings and took to the air, narrowly avoiding the rush of lava that pushed the platform up and into the spiked ceiling.

Crowley flapped his wings to keep stationary in the heated air. "I didn't notice the spikes before," he admitted, gazing up.

"Listen," Gabriel snapped, "You have got to start paying attention."

"All right, do you even know _how_ to show emotions in your voice? Because this is getting weird."

Gabriel bit him on the ear.

The lava spurt holding up the platform faded and it dropped again. Crowley touched down, opened the door and quickly slid in.

There was one small room there, dark and unsurprisingly warm. In the room there was a treasure chest rather inconveniently stored behind a large lizard that looked hungrily at them.

"Hey," said Gabriel, "the weak point is its tail. Is that one of your relatives?"

"Oh of course," replied Crowley sardonically, "Because every reptile is related to me."

"Except that they are all more advanced."

Much to Crowley's surprise, the large lizard – it looked rather like a cross between a komodo dragon and a gecko except larger – could also breathe fire, and quickly (enough so that he didn't die, but not quickly enough so that his boots didn't get lightly burnt) he threw himself out of the way, landing hard and skidding to rest against the wall.

"Far more advanced," Gabriel murmured, clinging tightly to Crowley's neck. "Look, did you forget when I said that its tail is its weakness?"

"No, but I was rather distracted by the fire-breathing part! Why does everything Down Here have to breathe fire!"

"Because this is _Hell_ , you moron."

Crowley didn't justify that with a response as he got up and ran behind the lizard. It quickly spun to defend its tail from him, but he saw his opening when it opened its mouth to breathe another burst of fire at him. As it prepared itself, he flapped his wings and threw himself to the side so that he could get behind it, where he promptly slammed a foot down on its tail. It roared in pain and he used that opportunity to reach into the chest, grab the key that was there, and run out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

"What a brave hero you are," Gabriel sneered.

"I bet you that thing eats weasels."

"I am a _mongoose,_ and that's very brave talk coming from someone who fears that I will eat him. I believe the key you just fetched opens those large doors on the other side of this area. You are going to have to put the key in the lock, turn the key, and allow the lock on the door to what we call _unlock_."

Crowley put aside his fear, grabbed Gabriel by the scruff and ripped him off his neck, and held the mongoose out over the lava. Gabriel of course hissed, but Crowley didn't relent until he felt his point had been made.

"Not only will I destroy you," Gabriel said once he was again wrapped around Crowley's neck to the point where it could certainly no longer be comfortable, especially considering the inclusion of claws, "but I will laugh as I do so."

"Yes, like I believe that you're capable of laughter."

Crowley spread his wings and took off from this platform, sailing across the lava and letting the warm air plumes carry him. He expertly dodged the spikes on the ceiling which of course fell just when he least wanted them to, and also the occasional surprise pillar of lava.

He landed on the platform directly in front of the locked door. "So what now, o great sage of wisdom?" he dead-panned.

"Die."

Crowley snickered as he stuck the key in. The heavy metal lock fell to the floor, and Crowley kicked it aside with a foot, upon which it fell into the lava and melted quite quickly.

"I think a weasel would melt just as fast," Crowley said musingly as he opened the door.

"I am no longer speaking with you," Gabriel said, "as doing so is clearly causing the destruction of my brain cells. I will only be speaking _to_ you, and only in instances where I feel it might spare my own life."

Crowley walked forward into this new room, perplexed by the fact it was a simple square one with a chest in the middle. "Huh… A giant hammer?" Crowley said aloud, confused, as he lifted the hammer out of the treasure chest. "A _heavy_ giant hammer."

"Don't complain," Gabriel instructed tersely, already forgetting his own rule.

Crowley smiled like a certain kind of reptile and looked at his mongoose companion. "You know, the game is called Whack-a-Mole but I'm sure that it can easily become Whack-a-Weasel…"

"… … … I will kill you in your sleep, waking you up in just time so that I may see the life fade from your eyes."

"But what is a hammer doing in here?" Crowley had to ask.

* * *

In another part of Hell, four figures cloaked in shadows were discussing just this.

"Why, why, why is the artifact to slay the Leviathan _directly on the path to the Leviathan?"_ the one in charge demanded.

"Oh come on, don't you know how these things work?" asked the second figure, "If the lair were full of vampires, then a whole bunch of stakes and an anti-undead mace would be in there. If the lair belonged to, say, an abominable snowman, then-"

"Hit him," said the first.

There was the loud sound of a throat clearing pointedly.

"Please," amended the first.

The third hit the second on the back of the head.

"Ow! Hey! Come on!"

"The logic is definitely flawed," said the fourth, "but to be fair, aren't we rooting for Crowley anyway?"

"Unofficially," the first admitted, "but still, what if it _weren't_ Crowley, huh, then what!"

"Quit complaining, it makes perfect sense," the second said with a pout.

* * *

"Oh well, not complaining," Crowley said, walking forward with the hammer in his grasp and Gabriel around his neck. "I highly doubt an enormous hammer that feels magical is going to be useless."

Gabriel gave a thoughtful hum.

"Stop thinking about how to use it to kill me."

"But then it loses all purpose," Gabriel admitted. "Go-"

"Do _not_ tell me to go through the door," Crowley snapped before seeing that the next room was nothing but a circular platform lined with lava and no discernable ceiling, as it was obscured by the rising smoke and dizzying height.

But really, Crowley was far more distracted by the enormous dragon-snake curled up on the aforementioned platform. When the door behind him slammed shut and sealed, he didn't even jump. He took off his sunglasses to better see what he was up against. He put them on the inside pocket of his suit coat; there was no point banishing them, considering he was never going to be wearing them again, from the looks of it.

Gabriel hopped off Crowley's neck and calmly walked back to press himself against the now-closed door.

"Where are you going?" Crowley asked, not able to remove his eyes from the being he belated realized was the Leviathan.

"I am going to confess my sins," the Archangel-turned-mongoose admitted, curling up there.

"I don't know why you're bothering," Crowley said, "After all, this is clearly not the Leviathan. The Leviathan lives in water; this is not in water. Therefore, this is not what it appears to be. It's not real. It's not real. It's not real. The Leviathan is _not_ guarding Satan's power source. It's not."

"If my soul is trapped here, I hope it goes to the Michael Layer," Gabriel said wistfully, "and I hope you go there as well, that I might make good on my promises to destroy the pair of you."

"It's not real. It's not real," Crowley continued. "It's not real."

Both glowing red eyes opened and the creature hissed loudly before letting out a veritable roar.

"Well what do you know. It _is_ real," said Crowley hopelessly. He gazed at his weapon – the hammer – and gave a sad sigh as he put it down. He didn't know how to use a hammer, and besides, it wasn't going to help him any. Not only was it far too heavy for him to use in a more normal situation, but nothing was going to help against that thing. Besides, having a decent weapon might give him a bit of hope, and he didn't want that, not against this beast…

Leviathan reared up, smoke coming out its nostrils.

"Father, I am sorry for my sins…" Gabriel began solemnly.

The creature snapped its head forward and Crowley jumped up, flapping his wings to avoid falling in any lava. To his surprise Leviathan began flapping its fins and also took to the air, pursuing him. Crowley dodged another attack, feeling rather like a canary going up against _a gigantic canary-eating snake._

As they flew higher and higher, Leviathan gave up trying to chomp down on Crowley and instead surprised him by taking a deep breath and breathing fire at him; Crowley's suit ignited and as he rapidly started trying to Will it out, Leviathan finally caught Crowley in its powerful jaws.

* * *

" _EEEEE!_ " cried a fangirl, " _CROWLEY/GIGANTIC SNAKE OTP!"_

_"HOT SNAKE ON SNAKE ACTION!"_

Yet another war broke out.

* * *

"Wait a moment," Gabriel called out, " _The sword of him that layeth at him cannot hold: the spear, the dart, nor the habergeon."_

 _"YOU ARE NOT QUOTING THE BIBLE AT ME!"_ Crowley screamed even as he shoved his hand into Leviathan's nostril and began clawing at the inside. Leviathan sneezed, which allowed Crowley free enough to flutter his way to the ground to start healing himself.

 _"He esteemeth iron as straw, and brass as rotten wood. The arrow cannot make him flee: slingstones are turned with him into stubble. Darts are counted as stubble: he laugheth at the shaking of a spear,"_ Gabriel recounted quickly, "The hammer. The _hammer_. Use the hammer!"

"But I can't! It's too heavy!"

"What have I told you about complaining?"

Crowley grimaced and picked it up in both hands. Before he had a chance to comprehend how exactly he was supposed to use a weapon he couldn't use to kill something that in all likelihood he wasn't going to be able to kill, the Leviathan dove from the top of the cavern and began burrowing into the middle of the platform, disappearing from sight.

Crowley gripped the hilt of the hammer tightly, bending his knees and fluttering his wings, ready to fly if he had to. The platform was shaking, and Crowley closed his eyes to feel the vibrations, try to pinpoint exactly _where_ –

It shoved its head out through the floor nearby, just close enough to swerve over and bite him. Hot spikes stabbed into his torso and he was overwhelmed with the scent of sulfur as he was slammed into the wall.

Gabriel felt hopeless and helpless, but he couldn't just sit there and do nothing, not matter how fun it was to watch Crowley get eaten. Even though the front half of the Leviathan was shoved into the wall, the tail end was still on the platform, and so Gabriel skittered over bit the end.

There wasn't a shriek of pain, which would have been too rewarding, but the objective had been accomplished: the beast came back out of the wall, and a barely-conscious blood-covered Crowley flew from its mouth and landed on the other side of the platform. To his credit, the hammer was still in his grasp.

The enormous snake turned to face Gabriel, who instinctively crouched and hissed, his fur spiking up.

Leviathan balked. Gabriel would have laughed if he had been more inclined to do so and had the situation been less dire. Instead, he hissed louder, trying to be as intimidating as possible, just long enough for the useless one to recover himself. Leviathan slowly began circling, and Gabriel began to internally panic as he realized he was being surrounded.

Crowley finally healed himself enough so that standing wasn't an impossible task. He shook his head, trying to focus. Crowley, seeing the Leviathan was distracted by what he assumed was Gabriel, would have like to let the monster finish the mongoose off. But since it was his spouse's uncle… He sighed and did what he could to distract the beast; he began hissing very loudly in snake language, taunting the larger serpent for not missing its original prey.

Clearly Leviathan took offense at this, as it abandoned the fearsome mongoose and burrowed back underground.

Crowley swore softly to himself as he once again began feeling for the vibrations.

There it was! The Leviathan was surfacing again, right next to him like before –

Winding up like no human could do and putting all his weight and strength behind the blow, Crowley slammed the hammer directly into Leviathan's skull. He almost grimaced at the sickening crack it made. The beast hit the platform with a thud and slowly slipped off into the lava.

There was violent rumbling, the sound of something high above them exploding, and then silence. Satan's power was free.

Gabriel gaped.

Crowley, shaking, laughed a little in relief, too distracted to even marvel at how nice it was that Gabriel wasn't talking anymore. "Gabriel was right. It worked. It actually worked." Then he thought about it. "There'll be no living with that arrogant prat after this," he said darkly.

* * *

In his office, Satan smiled brilliantly. "Ooo, he _did it!_ " he exclaimed in joyful shock. "I can't believe it! I never thought what's-his-name had it in him. Spot. Sparky. Whatever."

"Lord? Shall I send someone to heal the Principality?" Samael intoned.

Satan snorted. "Psh. I don't care. I'm going to go kill Michael. Oh, right, that one is his nephew too. So, you can either give them the okay, or make up a new task for them. Whatever, I'm done here." The Emperor of Hell Ascended.

* * *

The Fangirls of Hell pouted at this latest turn of events.

"Awww, that sexy beast Lucifer escaped," one said sadly. "He's so hot; it's so unfair that one being can be that hot. Except for Michael. And Belial."

"Oh, Belial!" They all swooned. None of the fangirls slashed Belial with anyone in particular, because no matter who or what he slept with, it was still sexy.

Another proudly said, "But it's okay, because Lucifer is going to find _Michael_ , and they're _twins_ , and that is just beyond hot. Angry, hot, slashy twincest. _Mmmmmmm._ "

"No, I don't care what you say, Lucifer and Michael are not going to hook up!" another fangirl protested, "Michael would never betray Gabriel like that!"

"Of course he won't betray Gabriel," another said bitterly, "because Gabriel isn't dating Michael, he's with _Crowley_!"

"That's it, now you die!" screamed another fangirl who slashed Crowley with anything other than angels. An all-out brawl began.


	9. Chapter Seven

Should you look up Saint Michael the Archangel on a search engine, you will find plenty of paintings and sculpture of a certain image: Michael in his all angelic glory standing atop a bearded male, with his sword drawn back, fully prepared to smite. You might have been told the creature that Michael has felled is actually the Adversary, Satan; however, this is incorrect.

His name is Steve.

Despite the fact that it happened over six thousand years ago, Steve's only truly demonic act in his existence has been to be the one that Michael owned so horribly. Whenever Steve would go into Hell's bars for a drink, all the other demons would ask him if Michael had stepped on his head recently. They would get a good laugh out of it. Steve didn't think it was all that funny.

So was it any surprise that, when asked by a nice group of smart-looking humans if he could hang out, he accepted? Who was he to know that they really wanted a demon to experiment on, to use to make large angel-eating monstrosities? It was an honest mistake. And anyway, none of them ever once mentioned Michael or stomping, so he couldn't complain too much.

* * *

Michael meanwhile was not demon-stomping, no matter how much he wished he were; he was pacing the small cottage in the South Downs, wanting to go hit something or do _something_ to save his little "nephew" or help out the war effort, or, or _something_ , but really his place was here, with Raphael and Uriel and Belial, making sure Raphael didn't kill himself because of his precious baby Zizi or making sure Belial didn't defile Uriel or something icky like that.

Although, to be fair, Uriel and Belial were sitting on the couch watching the news while Uriel braided Belial's hair, so really Michael should have been trying to make sure it was _Belial_ who didn't kill himself.

(I WOULDN'T SAY NO IF HE DID, said Death, who had started to dust while he waited for Aziraphael to die. WHEEEEEW.

Belial grinned and winked.)

Michael poked his head back in the room with the two angels; Aziraphale was pale and weak and shivering with Raphael curled up around him, stroking his hair. Michael wibbled and removed his head.

The problem with having nothing to do was that he couldn't stop _thinking_ *, specifically about how Michael hadn't liked Aziraphale since the Sword Losing Incident but had at one point liked him a lot, and how maybe he shouldn't have been so harsh on him and demoted him to a Principality for it, although at the time he had really wanted Aziraphale Felled, but then again, at one point he really was freaking adorable, and…

He sat down at the kitchen table and, in an attempt to forget the dying angel he had just seen, recalled a time when things had been more peaceful.

_Flashback_

Michael had been okay with Aziraphael when he was a big-eyed curly-haired infant. He'd had exceedingly low standards – being snuggled had been enough to keep him happy. Now that he was a big-eyed, huge-curly-haired toddler and wanted to _do_ things and…

"Pway wif me, Uncwe Michaew," Aziraphael cooed, looking up (very up) at Michael with eyes wide and happy.

Michael looked between the toddler and Raphael desperately. Raphael smiled demurely as he continued pouring over his notes. "Aziraphael," the redheaded Archangel chided gently.

"Pwease," he amended.

"Um… What do you want to do?" Michael asked warily.

The toddler pursed his lips and looked thoughtful. Suddenly those large celestial blue eyes were filled with glee. "I know! I can be you!"

"Huh?"

"Ha ha, eviw, I am the gweat Awchangew Michaew!" Aziraphael cried, "Pwepawe to be smited!" The toddler let out a "war cry" and tackled Michael's leg, holding on tightly.

Ah. This was something Michael understood.

"Ahhh, oh no, not the great hero!" he exclaimed, dramatically falling, "Noooo!" He made a great show of succumbing.

A giggling Aziraphael crawled up Michael's body and held him around the neck. "You've been beaten, eviw! Suwwender!"

"You win, I surrender!" He let his whole body go limp in a sign of defeat.

Aziraphael couldn't stop giggling even as he nuzzled Michael's face. "I wuv you, Uncwe Michaew!"

"Awwww. I wuv you too!"

And Raphael beamed.

_End Flashback_

"He was _so cute_ ," Michael moaned, "and now he's going to _die_ and there's nothing I can do and it sucks!"

"There is something thou can do."

Descending in a flash of fire was Metatron in his full angelic glory.

"Hey Flamer," Michael said without feeling.

Metatron glared at him. "Michael, do not refer to us as such."

"Whatever. What do you want now?"

"Hiiii Metty!" Uriel called over from the couch. Belial had ducked down, out of sight.

Metatron ignored him. "Michael, as you know, the Lord hath placed mineself in charge of the preparations of the War, as thou hast chosen to spend time with thy Nest instead. As such, I am now able to direct you as I see fit. There is a job for thee, Michael, which only thou canst perform."

"Geez you suck," Michael said.

Metatron blinked.

"Well out with it. What does the Super Shiny Special Metatron who's only in charge because all the cool people are busy want with little old me?" he drawled.

He cleared his throat. "Hast thou heard of Dämonverderben?"

Michael shook his head. "Um, no, but that means Demonsbane, doesn't it? Cool. So they have a bane?"

"The Dämonverderben is believed to be a renegade angel hunting down demons and destroying them." The Voice of God took a deep breath, preparing himself. "We need thou to kill him."

Michael gaped. "Whaddya mean by that?"

Metatron sighed. "We understand your concern, Michael, but… Well, it only makes tactical sense. This Dämonverderben, 'tis systematically killing our allies. He needs to be stopped before we find ourselves _completely_ overrun by the humans. We have enough problems, we feel."

"Buuuuut…" Michael bit his lower lip. "But I myself kill demons. So this seems really very backwards."

"We know," said Metatron, rolling his eyes. "Trust us."

Michael was going to punch him for being a sarcastic douche when Uriel gushed, "Aw, Michael's gonna be the demon's hero! How special! Then he'll be _everyone's_ hero, not just mine!"

"Awwww… Little Buddy…" That decided it for Michael. "All right! I'm gonna go do the right thing! You take care of Raphael, Little Buddy!" He didn't even need to threaten Belial. Belial knew full well that he should behave himself if he wanted to survive, and really, Michael was the least of his problems whether the Archangel was there or not.

"Okay!" Uriel exclaimed, his eyes clearly betraying he had no idea what Michael was talking about.

"And Metatron, roll your eyes at me again it'll be _eighty_ lashes this time," Michael said, giving Metatron a very threatening finger-waggle. Then he, banging his knuckles together in excitement, exited the cottage, ignoring any response or emotion that Metatron might have exhibited because he really didn't care.

Dressing himself in a badass black leather trench-coat and sunglasses with his sword in a hilt on his back, he prepared himself to create a motorbike so he could ride off and hunt this dude down, finish him off, and get back in case his nephew was dead – someone had to keep Raphael from killing himself, after all, and Uriel would probably end up not understanding or, oo, maybe Uriel and Azrael would get into a huge smack-down all-out brawl, _how cool would that be? –_

His thoughts skidded to a halt as he spotted Crowley's precious black Bentley, sitting in the driveway, all shiny and _there_ , and suddenly Michael really, _really_ wanted to take it for a drive. A long drive.

He wavered. A motorbike would be a little bit more badass. But the Bentley would be old-school… and it would piss off A. Crow, which is fun too. But, then again, it was technically stealing. But at the same time, he would have to miracle the motorbike into existence, and the Bentley was already there. … … … but it would piss off A. Crow if he took the Bentley.

Michael grinned.

"It's not stealing if you're On a Holy Mission!"

Back in the cottage, Metatron, scowl still present, ignored Uriel, Belial (whom he could almost sense, but wrote off as not mattering anyway) and Death as he walked into the bedroom, throwing open the door. "Raphael, thou art the Healer of God, and your place is on the battlefield," he said imperiously. "The Faithful are being slain as we speak with thee."

Aziraphale's head lolled to the side and he whimpered weakly. Raphael instantly maneuvered his wing to block the shining light of Metatron's fire from Aziraphale's face. "My place is with my son," he said in a dull voice, reaching up to dab at Aziraphale's forehead with a washcloth soaked in holy water.

"Thou art clearly not listening to us. Thy true place is with the Servants of the Lord! There are angels dying because the Healer is mourning a corpse!"

This declaration was met with utter silence. Metatron opened his mouth to demand compliance when he heard two words and felt a cold shiver go up his spine.

"Get. Out."

To Metatron's complete surprise, he was forcefully evicted from not only the room, but the cottage as well. He landed on his buttocks outside. He instantly stood and brushed the dirt off his robes and fixed a few mussed-up feathers on his wings. "Such insolence," he hissed before Ascending with his bruised pride and bottom.

"Well," Belial admitted, his head poking up over the couch to look, "I never knew Raphael had that in him."

DAAAAYUMN, said Death, THAT MAKES ME FEEL A BIT BETTER. AT LEAST HE DIDN'T KICK ME OUT.

A few seconds passed and another being Descended from On High, only this one was decidedly _not_ Metatron; instead she was a slender female with disproportionately-large-sized breasts, thick brown hair and a pair of pink-tinged wings. "Was that my Raphy-poo?" she demanded in a squeaky voice, her hands on her rounded hips.

Uriel look of pride in Raphael's actions faded instantly. "That's not his name, Chamuel," he said bitterly.

The Archangel of Love and Hope smiled at him and waved in greeting before pouting adorably. "Uri-boo, what's wrong with Raphy-poo? Expelling Metatron? This isn't like him. Usually he's so nice. It's why I love him so!" She gave a fond sigh. "Oh, Raphy-poo. Someday we'll get married and give that boy of yours some siblings… I even have nothing against having a stepson!"

"Stuff's wrong with Raphael and you can't fix it so you might as well not even go in there at all ever!" Uriel declared in a rush before throwing himself on the couch dramatically.

"Hey Chamuel," said the Archdemon of Lust. "Last time I saw you, you were male."

"Male-shaped," the Archangel of Love replied congenially. "But sometimes I like to switch it up. Besides, I got sick of the name Haniel, which I go by when I'm male, because why should anyone only have one name? And anyways, Raphy-poo wasn't caving when I was a boy so I thought maybe if I was girl he would. No such luck. _Yet_."

"Raphael?" Belial inquired with a raised eyebrow. Uriel had materialized a book out of nowhere, laid it on his lap and was scrawling in it furiously. "Really? He strikes me as distinctly not sexual at all. And coming from me you know that's saying something. Asmodeus was an Archdemon of Lust and even he never managed to get in Raphael's robes, no matter how hard he tried. And he was trying to avoid getting Bound so trust me, he tried. He's told me stories."

"Well technically we all are sexless unless we're in human bodies," Chamuel replied airily.

"I meant more so than the average angel." Except Uriel, much to Belial's chagrin.

"Well most people seek out romantic love when they're looking for some sort of life-fulfilling connection," Chamuel explained sweetly, "Raphy-poo, however, continues to tell me that he's fulfilled with that son of his. Which I don't think is true. It's not like they're having sex or going on dates, or at least I hope they're not, as Aziraphael and Crowley are helping me keep my quotas."

Belial snorted. "I didn't know Heaven was keeping track of Lust too nowadays. Should I be concerned?"

Chamuel sighed. "Of course not, silly."

He grinned at her leeringly. "So are you saying we ought to work together?"

She gave him a put-upon pout. "Be-li-al. You know better than that. Have I ever once had sex with you, you silly thing?"

"Down where I come from we call you the Angel of Good Lovin'," he informed her with a wink.

She sighed, her wings sagging a bit. "Beli-dear, the kind of sex _I_ work with is the kind which comes within loving relationships, pun so intended. _Yours_ the kind done in brothels or with strangers at parties. Not that whores are incapable of love of course, with the right push, but, you see the difference. I just loved _Moulin Rouge!_ "

"Lust is lust," Belial snorted.

Chamuel waved that away with a pink-fingernail-painted hand. "You're so silly, Beli-dear. Anyhow, if Raphy-poo is so distressed that visitors are making him unhappy, I'll just pop in and give him my regards." She flounced into the room and glomped him.

While Raphael recovered from the unexpected glomp, Belial hazarded a look over to see what exactly Uriel was writing. He read over the slender Archangel's shoulder:

_"Oh Zuriel," the redheaded Zraphael purred, "you're so big and strong and mighty, and way better than that evil Zchamuel! You can win everything!"_

_Powered by the needed support, Zuriel went on to slay the dark fiend_

Belial blinked again and again. "Um, Uriel."

"Yes?" he asked, looking up finally as he tapped his pencil on the book. "I think I've got writer's block."

"Is that… is that a…"

"I'm writing a novel series," he explained, closing the book and smiling, "My main character is a big tough strong awesome angel named Zuriel."

"And… what colour is 'Zuriel's' hair and eyes?"

"Black hair, and purple eyes," he answered. "Well, really more like 'twin glittering amethysts which shown out gloriously against the pale snow-white of his silky skin'.

There was silence between the two as Belial processed this information and Uriel wondered what that funny Mr. Damned was staring at.

Finally Belial blurted, "You slashed yourself with _Raphael?"_

* * *

* No matter what Gabriel may attest.

* * *

"Raphael/Uriel OTP?" a lone fangirl hazarded.

Crickets chirped throughout the Layer.

"And people say we don't have standards," one said with a chuckle.

"Does it count if I say they're my hugging OTP?"

* * *

"I can't believe you ship Uriel/Raphael," Belial moaned, hanging his head.

Uriel patted him on the head. "I have no idea what you mean by that, you funny thing."

"Never mind…" He took a deep breath and then smiled again. Just because apparently Uriel would rather be with Raphael than him… Well it didn't change anything! He always knew this was going to be a challenge – that's why he was attracted to him in the first place! No use quitting now.

Instead Belial forged on by deftly changing the channel on the television.

"Oops," he said demurely.

Uriel's head cocked * to the side. "What are they doing?" he asked.

"Well, you see, when two men, or men-shaped-beings like you and me, lust for each other, as you see here they strip each other down and…"

THAT'S SORT OF HOT, Death admitted. UNETHICAL, BUT HOT.

* * *

* Pun intended. I'm so sorry.

* * *

Up in Heaven, Metatron had stormed to the Palace in a tizzy, ignoring all of the angels who looked at him inquisitively. He didn't even care when Chamuel Descended without permission. He returned to his office and opened the top drawer of one of his many cabinets, removing a large tablet of papers. He grabbed a pen off the small container on his impeccably-organized desk and began scrawling on the top sheet of paper.

How _dare_ he. No, not he; it wasn't just Raphael. All four of those worthless has-beens treated Metatron as nothing more than His Secretary. He could stomach the insubordination only so much; Michael was usually the worst considering he outranked Metatron, but this was the last straw, especially as Raphael's defiance had been in protection of _him._

Oh, how he loathed that Aziraphael. A worthless Principality who only got away with what other angels would be Felled for because that redheaded twit had taken a liking to him! Aziraphael had caused him more trouble over the millennia than any weakling had a right to – Metatron was _still_ sore over that Incident where Aziraphael had dared to lecture _him_ , _the Voice_ , on the Will of the Lord – and it was time to put an end to that.

Well, soon the Principality would die, from what Metatron had seen. There remained the matter of making said death as painful as possible.

The Principality had defied him based on a love for Humanity, hadn't he? Why, then the icing on Metatron's revenge cake would be delicious indeed if it involved the death of numerous humans. Especially from that one city, the one he had spent most of his time in… Ah, right, London.

"There," the Voice murmured, signing the Order to Gomorrah London. No one could accuse him of outright trying to kill either Raphael or Aziraphael, being in the South Downs as they were. But he knew the sting of losing that wretched human city would pain Aziraphael (and thus Raphael too) until his dying moment.

* * *

The more direct approach had, as Belial secretly figured it would, failed. In fact, Uriel had grown bored watching the television and had gotten up and started cleaning. Belial didn't bother to change the station, although even he wasn't watching anymore; he'd done much more than human pornography could ever hope to show. This was for the best, because Death was entranced.

As Uriel was tidying up, he was singing to himself. He was clad in a frilly pink apron with a matching flowered chef's hat, and the music on the radio was softly playing, not loud enough to disturb the sleeping Aziraphale in the next room over. "Love me hate me say what you want about me, but all of the boys and all of the girls are beggin' to _if you seek Amy_!"

Belial's eye twitched.

"Say, you know Mr. Damned, this song is so catchy but it makes no sense," Uriel admitted, "No sense at all. _IF YOU SEEK AMY_? What does that even mean?"

Belial's eye began to spasm.

" _IIIIFFFF YYYYOOOOUUUU SSSSEEEEKKKK AAAAMMMMYYYY_. _FFFF UUUU CCCC KKKK MMMMEEEE._ Huh. No, doesn't mean anything. Weird."

If Belial had a soul, it would have died.

HA HA, said Death to Belial.

* * *

"You have been given one more task," Samael informed the recently-returned Crowley and Gabriel. "Then you will be done, and someone shall heal Aziraphael."

"You had best mean that," Gabriel the Mongoose snapped from his perch around Crowley's neck, "Because I am bloody _sick_ of being down here."

"Start talking," Crowley murmured, wanting to say something along Gabriel's lines but refraining because he was spending too many valuable personality resources trying to not panic.

"There is an ancient artifact," Samael began, "called the Bane of Humanity, located deep within the Eleventh Layer, or so rumors say. According to the research that has been done on said artifact, it was placed there by our ex-father back during the formation of Hell. Apparently the Bane has the power to completely and utterly wipe out the human race; it was made as a sort of… delete button, if you will. Satan Our Master never bothered looking into the rumors because he didn't want to _destroy_ the humans, at least not until the Appointed Time, and even then he liked his Antichrist idea much better – in theory of course, as it didn't turn out as well as anyone here had hoped. However, _now_ we _want_ to destroy the humans in the quickest way possible so that we can get back to the _real_ goal, which is destroying the forces of Heaven."

Gabriel sighed. "At least you're honest about your intentions. You have so many layers, however; which one is the Eleventh?"

Crowley paled. "No. No, _you bastard,_ you _can't_ possibly-"

Samael waved his hand. "Goodbye."

Crowley and Gabriel disappeared from Satan's office.

Samael allowed himself the smallest of evil smirks. Sure, it wasn't quite up to par with killing Michael, but assuring his nephew died… Well, one takes what one can get.

He checked the clock – it was time for his midday break, thankfully, so he gathered up his packed lunch, finished off his now-cold latte, and left his office. Figuring he ought to inform a colleague of what he'd just done considering Lord Satan was gone, Samael sighed as he walked into Azazel's office. "So I sent them on a pointless quest," he said.

"Who, the snake and the boring one? I don't care," Azazel admitted.

"Neither would I, except that they're apparently down here to save Michael's nephew; you know, the one with the tea. I have nothing against him personally, but I do loathe Michael." He sighed again. "It is a sad day for a demon indeed when I must strike out against targets that are not Michael. I hate my life. But he is where Lord Satan is right now, and thus I must simply hope there are some pieces of Michael left after Lord Satan is through with him."

"All Hail Satan," the two said disinterestedly.

Azazel did not look like a demon at first glance. Rather, he looked like a teenager trying to look threatening; however, he actually pulled it off. The Archdemon of Avarice and Wrath wore his hair short and black, irregularly cut. His face and other body parts were riddled with numerous large painful-looking piercings,* and his all-black clothes were punctuated by long silver chains**. He always wore iron-knuckled gloves, kept his fingernails as long and sharp claws, and his large black boots had blades that would come out whenever he stamped his foot down***. Of course since he was working at the time he was wearing an over-starched black suit, but he somehow made himself look intimidating anyway. Nowhere in the dress code did it say that the chains weren't allowed, after all, although some others had complained about it.

As an Archdemon and one of Satan's Highest, he had what most people would call a Pretty Sweet Office: a fancy cherry wood desk with matching paneling, a wall-sized television, a state-of-the-art computer, thick comfortable carpet, and a chair so cozy he could have slept in it. Despite this and his high rank, Azazel was not happy – well, to be fair, his high rank was _in Hell_ , but even for demons Azazel was not happy.

After all, in a way that managed to be both by his will and against it, his television showed a life-sized version of his mortal foe.

Raphael.

Ever since his Banishment, Azazel's television had constantly shown Raphael as he went about his life in Heaven, on Earth and anywhere in between… Azazel had constant, never-ending RaphaelVision™. It filled him with constant fury to see that redheaded bastard at all, much less with that infuriating smile on his face. However, it was very useful in terms of planning out the ultimate Operation Destroy the Healer and Everything He Holds Dear and Laugh at Whatever's Left of Him for Eternity™ (ODTHAEHHDALAWLOHFE™ for short). But he had been forced to watch his most loathed enemy be joyful… happy…

But now miserable.

Azazel had at first been elated to watch Raphael suffer, to see those eyes dim with sorrow, watch the helpless tears flow down his face, see the forced smile as he stroked another angel's hair. The son. But then, the weaker the son got, the more despondent Raphael got, and, although Azazel couldn't pinpoint why, the less happy he himself got.

He tapped his long claws on the desk. How perturbing. His most hated adversary was curled up and desperately trying to stop crying, he'd never been this forlorn in the millennia that Azazel had been secretly spying on him, so why wasn't Azazel feeling more glee? It certainly wasn't any sort of compassion, it was something –

Oh, well, _duh_.

It was because he hadn't done the damage himself. Raphael was suffering, yes, but it wasn't because of _him_.

"So you're saying that you've just assured that no one will heal the brat," Azazel said, looking at the screen. "So he'll die."

Samael nodded. "It's weak revenge, but it's the best I'm allowed."

Azazel's eyes narrowed. This wouldn't do at all.

* * *

* The better to stab you with, Raphael "my dear."

** The better to strangle you with, Raphael "my dear."

*** The better to… okay, yes, you get the idea.


	10. Chapter Eight

Azazel Ascended outside of the cottage in the South Downs, and wasn't terribly surprised when Belial opened up the door and stepped out, closing it behind him.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Belial asked Azazel with an arched eyebrow.

Azazel sneered at him. "Preventing the destruction of ODTHAEHHDALAWLOHFE™."

"… Of what?"

"If the weaker angel dies, _I_ will never be the one to destroy that bastard angel's hopes and dreams," he explained impatiently, "so I'm going to heal him."

"OD – THA – EHH-"

"ODTHAEHHDALAWLOHFE™!"

"All right, how did you manage to say that?"

"It doesn't matter! I can sense there's another Archangel in that house; you keep him occupied so that he doesn't get all smite-happy."

"Well," Belial said with a put-upon air, "I _suppose_ I could help you, just this once. But you would owe me."

"Shove it, slut," Azazel sneered and walked past him.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Belial replied in a sing-song voice, "You don't want to know _which_ Archangel is in that house."

"Fine. You can name your price later. But time is of the essence."

* * *

Raphael huddled next to Aziraphale, wrapped around him, hypersensitive as he felt for any signs of life. The injured angel was still and cold except for the occasional tremor. Raphael began to live for those tremors.

"Keep holding on, Zizi," he soothed, rubbing, "Hold on for me, okay?" He had exhausted all of his optimism.

There was another tremor. It was so weak, though…

Raphael closed his eyes and _prayed_.

"The snake won't make it in time."

He had sensed demonic entities in the house but hadn't bothered caring. "What do you want, Azazel?" he asked wearily.

The Archdemon smiled in a rather sadistic manner as he sat on the edge of the bed. "Don't mind me. I'm just reveling in your agony. Carry on."

The Archangel drew closer to his son, tightening his wings to block them from view. "You may do so elsewhere."

"Aw, c'mon, don't be like that. It's not my fault your suffering amuses me."

"Don't make me call Uriel in here."

"Belial's running interference for me."

"As if you think he wouldn't destroy both of you."

Azazel went silent. Finally he admitted, "I didn't come here to just gloat."

Raphael held Aziraphale tighter, reaching out for his Presence – so faint, almost as if…

"This has been a learning experience for me. An Archangel with a glaring weakness. I knew you liked the boy, but not to such a debilitating degree! I fully intend on exploiting it. When your ward dies, it will be at _my_ hands, with you watching." Azazel placed a hand on Aziraphale's leg.

Raphael eased back his wings so he could see what the Archdemon was doing. "If you hurt him…"

The first thing Raphael noticed was that Aziraphael grew warmer, his eyelids fluttering. His eyes eventually popped open and he sharply took in a breath. Finally, the bullet expelled itself from Aziraphale's stomach, and the wound healed.

Both angels stared at Aziraphale's whole stomach. Azazel smirked. "There. Now you just have to live long enough for me to kill you."

* * *

Outside, Death sighed, would have rolled his eyes if he had them, and left.

* * *

"So where exactly is Crowley?" Aziraphale asked as Raphael helped him out of bed and dressed him.

"Oh, he and Gabriel went to find a cure for you, dear heart," Raphael chirped as he smoothed down Aziraphale's unruly curls, which of course instantly popped back into place. "I'm sure they're quite safe, and anyway there's no chance I'm letting my only baby go after them, so trust in the Lord and don't worry about your dear Crowley, all right? You aren't going anywhere but with me because I'm just so happy you're all right now I simply can't bear to leave your side for a single second my sweet little cherub!"

Aziraphale did not look convinced as he and Raphael stepped out of the bedroom. "But-"

 _"ZIZI YOU'RE OKAY!"_ Uriel exclaimed, running over and tackling him. Aziraphale, still weak from having been so close to death, was knocked over, landing awkwardly on his wings.

Azazel went to stand next to Belial. "Do I even want to know what you were doing up here?" the former asked the latter.

"Eh. No, not really."

Suddenly the television changed from the explicit content to a fuzzy screen. " _BELIAL? AZAZEL?"_

Aziraphale, even on the floor as he was, raised an eyebrow at the voice.

"Yes, sir?" Belial answered as Azazel paled.

" _DON'T BE A SCAREDY CAT, AZAZEL; DAD-LU'S GONE AND WHAT HE DOESN'T KNOW CAN'T HURT HIM. I THOUGHT IT WAS A STUPID RULE ANYWAY. FEELING BETTER, AZIRAPHALE?"_

"Adam?" the angel in question asked in shock as Raphael helped him to his feet and brushed him off.

" _IN THE… WELL, NOT THE FLESH, BUT YOU GET THE IDEA."_

"So you're in Hell?" he asked. "Wait, do you know how Crowley is doing?"

" _YEAH I'M IN HELL, BUT THAT SOUNDS A LOT WORSE THAN IT ACTUALLY IS,"_ the voice admitted, " _AFTER A LONG AND CLIMACTIC BATTLE OF WILLS, POWERS, YADDA YADDA, I'M NOW THE PRINCE OF HELL. * IT'S A PRETTY SWEET DEAL."_

"Oh, that's good to hear," Raphael said cheerfully.

" _THANKS. AND CROWLEY'S FINE, BY THE WAY. AND I WOULDA COME UP TO HEAL YOU, AZI-"_

Aziraphale had initially sighed in relief but then winced as he fought against the urge to tell Adam to never call him that.

"- _BUT IT'S KINDA WEIRD: WHEN I'M DOWN HERE I GOT ALL THE POWERS I HAD BEFORE, BUT WHEN I'M UP THERE I GOT NOTHIN'. WENS' THEORY IS THAT IT'S BECAUSE I'M STILL THE SON OF SATAN SO I'M POWERED BY HELL ITSELF. BUT NO ONE'S SURE WHY."_

"Oh, young Wensleydale died too?" Aziraphale asked in shock.

" _OH, NO, NOT REALLY. Y'SEE, I KNEW THINGS WERE CHANGING SO I SAID, WELL, I CAN'T LET MY FRIENDS GET KILLED LIKE THAT! SO I BROUGHT THEM DOWN HERE. THEY WORK FOR-"_

 _"WITH,"_ interrupted a feminine voice.

_"RIGHT, RIGHT, WITH ME. SORRY. UH YEAH, BRIAN'S MY PLANNING GENERAL-"_

Another voice chimed in, " _YET YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ANY OF MY IDEAS! EXPLODING BOMBER PENGUINS!"_

 _"HOW BAD DO YOU WANNA GET SUED? THAT'S FROM_ _DISGAEA_ _!"_ Adam retorted.

" _AWWW, C'MON. WHO'S GONNA KNOW?"_

_"ANYHOW, AND PEPPER'S MY INTERIOR DECORATOR-"_

There was a loud, painful-sounding thunk, some shuffling, and a moment later, " _OW, OKAY, I THINK MY KIDNEY'S STILL FUNCTIONING. UM YEAH, PEPPER'S MY RIGHT-HAND MAN, MY MAIN MUSCLE, YOU KNOW, THE BEELZEBUB TO MY SATAN. WELL, BEEL BEFORE HE DIED, YOU GET THE IDEA. AND WENSLEYDALE'S MY ACCOUNTANT."_

The fourth voice sounded distressed. " _YOU KNOW I DON'T APPRECIATE THAT, RIGHT?"_

 _"WELL WHAT_ _ **ELSE**_ _ARE YOU GONNA DO?"_ There was a spell of awkward silence. " _ANYHOW, ANYHOW, I GOT A JOB FOR YOU. SINCE ONLY TWO OF YOU TECHNICALLY HAVE TO LISTEN TO ME, IT'S SORT OF A JOB FOR TWO OF YOU AND VOLUNTEER WORK FOR THE OTHER THREE."_

"What is thy will?" asked Azazel, still pale at the thought of repercussions for his defying orders and healing Aziraphale.

" _WE FINALLY MANAGED TO FIND STEVE."_

"Who's Steve?" Azazel mouthed to Belial. Belial made a motion of stomping with his foot. Azazel snickered, nodding in understanding.

" _BE NICE TO POOR STEVE_ , _EVEN IF HE DOES SUCK."_

The two Archdemons pouted.

" _ANYHOW, TURNS OUT STEVE'S BEIN' HELD SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE-"_

Aziraphale made a face.

" _BE NICE TO THE POOR FRENCH, EVEN IF THEY DO SUCK."_

Aziraphale pouted.

" _YEAH, SO STEVE'S BEEN KIDNAPPED, ISH; WELL, HIS, UM, DNA I GUESS, IF HE EVEN HAS ANY, I DUNNO, WHATEVER, SO HIS DNA-MAYBE AND STUFF'S BEING USED BY A WHOLE BUNCH OF SCIENCE GEEKS IN ORDER TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO MAKE, AND YOU'LL LOVE THIS, GENETIC MONSTERS. LIKE, BIG NASTY DEMON KILLING MACHINE THINGS."_

" _YOU KNOW, KINDA LIKE_ _ **RESIDENT EVIL**_ _, ONLY WITHOUT ANY ZOMBIES_ ," interjected Brian.

"That's not true," Aziraphale corrected, "Pestilence has been making zombies."

" _OH THAT IS SO AWESOME!"_ Brian squealed.

" _OHHH, THAT'S RIGHT, HE'S OUT OF RETIREMENT NOW! GOOD FOR HIM. WELL, OKAY, SO, PESTILENCE IS MAKIN' ZOMBIES, AND NOW HUMANITY'S MAKIN' ALL SORTS OF BIG NASTY THINGS. AND YOUR MISSION, SHOULD YOU CHOOSE TO ACCEPT IT ALTHOUGH TWO OF YOU DON'T HAVE A CHOICE, IS TO GO THERE AND SAVE STEVE. AND, YOU KNOW, KILL STUFF. MOSTLY KILL STUFF."_

"Wait, if Steve is being used to make angel-eating demonic monstrosities, why are _we_ stopping it?" Azazel demanded.

"That's not very nice," Uriel demurred.

" _BECAUSE THEY GOT MIKE GOING OFF TAKING CARE OF THAT BIG GUY WITH THE GERMAN NAME WHO'S KILLING ALL OF OUR SIDE, DUH."_

"Dämonverderben," Belial murmured. Azazel shuddered.

" _RIGHT, THAT ONE. SINCE MIKE'S DOING THAT, I FIGURE WE CAN RETURN THE FAVOR. AND SINCE DAD-LU'S OFF GALAVANTING AND TRYIN' TO FIND MIKE TO KILL HIM-"_

"Oh dear," said Raphael.

" _\- I'M CALLIN' THE SHOTS. AND I'M SAYIN' YOU HAVE TO SAVE STEVE."_

"On one condition," Azazel said.

" _UM. YOU DON'T GET TO NAME CONDITIONS. I'M IN CHARGE."_

"Can I step on Steve's head when we find him?"

" _SNICKER, SNICKER, SNORT… ER, SURE."_

* * *

* Satan: (sneer) It's _you_.

Adam: (sigh) Listen. If I'm gonna be stuck down here, I might as well make myself useful.

Satan: … … … We have the position of "Prince of Hell" still open.

Adam: Brilliant.

* * *

Pestilence sneezed.

"Gesundheit," said one of his zombies.

"Why thank you," he said, pouring it some more tea and smiling at the progress.

* * *

Aziraphale was still feeling a bit under the weather, considering his close brush with Death, so Raphael suggested they materialize to France rather than fly, much to Belial's relief. Uriel was also a fan of this idea, and so he dragged the five of them to the continent; it was already dark, so they settled in a forest for the night. Unfortunately, due to the death of Aziraphale's corporation, he was incapable of banishing his wings or halo, which made it difficult to blend in with civilization. However, given the choices of being stealthy or waiting an untold amount of time for a new human guise…

Belial had curled up and was asleep already, using Uriel's lap as a pillow. Easily influenced, Uriel also found himself quite tired and had fallen asleep sitting up against a tree. Raphael had volunteered to look around the area for any dangers, mostly because Azazel kept glaring at him and it was making him depressed.

"Mr. Azazel, what is your problem with my foster father?" Aziraphale demanded, trying to not look as scared to be antagonizing an Archdemon as he felt now that the two were effectively alone.

Azazel surprisingly did not look that antagonized. "Hmph. He wouldn't have told you, would he have. Your 'foster father'" he spat the words like a curse, "and I had numerous run-ins on Earth back in the day, and then finally:"

"Oh, there's really no need-"

_Flashback_

" _AH HA HA HA HA HA!_ _NOW YOU WILL FEEL THE WRATH OF MY CRUEL AND MERCILESS GOD!"_ Raphael screamed, surrounded by fire, " _PREPARE TO BE EVICERATED, WEAKLING!"_

"Um. What? I didn't do anything," Azazel replied reasonably, as he was always reasonable and this attack was truly unprovoked.

" _SUFFER AND DIE, HELLSPAWN!_ " Laughing maniacally, Raphael foully and some would say evilly destroyed Azazel.

_End Flashback_

"-for a flashback. Er. Now I _know_ _that's_ not true," Aziraphale said sternly.

Azazel rolled his eyes. "You're a biased party."

"No; you're still alive."

"… … …"

* * *

_How It Really Happened:_

"Boys," God said sternly, "we need to work on task division."

The Four stared at him. None of them looked comfortable with this.

"You're all too specialized," He continued, "and now is the perfect time to get you to try new things. So, Michael, you're going to be delivering My Messages…"

Gabriel looked pained; Michael looked disappointed. "Aww, couldn't I be Uriel?"

"Huh? You can't be me, _I'm_ me!" Uriel cried.

"… Uriel, you're going to be Healing…"

"Oh dear," Raphael murmured, obviously fretting inwardly as he started to worry about the casualties.

"… Raphael, you'll be Smiting…"

Raphael's brave attempts to not look horrified failed miserably at that; Michael clapped him on the back. "Awesome! It's time you learned the particular joy that comes with smiting infidels!"

"… and Gabriel, you'll be… er… … … hugging bunnies," God finished a little lamely.

"Oh. Joy. Rabbits."

"Bunnies! Where?" Uriel exclaimed, looking around.

"Er, Father, really? Shouldn't one of the others of the more, ah, smiting disposition be the ones to, ah, smite?" Raphael asked, wringing his hands, "Please?"

"That's the whole point," God replied. "Raphael, I know you've been going down to Earth and have been having trouble with the Archdemon of Avarice. Now is the perfect time for you to finish him off."

Michael's jaw dropped as he looked at the obviously-guilty Raphael. "You've got an Archdemon pestering you and you haven't told me? Aw c'mon Raph!"

"I didn't mean to offend you!" Raphael cried, "I truly didn't, it's just that, well, he's not all that bad, I mean all he's been doing is teaching the humans to make jewelry, is that so wrong?"

"Do the words 'false idols' and 'vanity' mean anything to you?" God asked with a smile and a raised eyebrow.

Raphael sighed. "Yes, Father."

"Well, maybe I could deliver this guy a 'message,'" Michael suggested with a conspiratorial eyebrow wriggle. "If you know what I mean."

Gabriel face-palmed.

"So what are we doing again?" Uriel asked.

God led Uriel off to find someone to heal. Michael looked at Raphael with big celestial blue eyes. "C'mon, let me come with you! I can totally smite this guy for you, Raphael!"

"No," Gabriel snapped, handing Michael his large mailbag, " _you_ have to go deliver these. When you do, you are to be courteous, and there will be no hitting involved. And I will know, Michael." He looked at Michael very, very seriously. "I will _know_ if you mess this up. You will regret it. For _eternity._ "

Michael looked appropriately wary before letting out a high-pitched, nervous laugh. "Yes! Of course! No ruining for me! I'm Michael the Archangel – I don't ruin anything but demons! Yep, that's me! I'll see you later!" He descended in a rush.

Gabriel sighed. "I wonder how he will ruin things."

Raphael had a pained look on his face. "But finding out is half of the fun…"

"Raphael, are you going to be all right with this Archdemon, or would you prefer I accompany you? For all the suggestions of rabbit-snuggling-"

"Bunnies," Raphael corrected, "Uriel is a specialist; the animals have to be babies."

"Yes yes of course. My point was that Uriel is _also_ very useful when it comes to dealing with demons. Therefore, it would not be against my new role to aid you."

Raphael nodded. "All right. It's not that I _can't_ handle one demon, it's just that, well, I would prefer not to if at all possible, and really Azazel isn't that bad of a sort when you get down to it, he isn't hurting anyone or at least not physically, and… Well, if you wouldn't mind."

"Let's go," said Gabriel curtly, and the two Archangels Descended.

Today Azazel shook hands with War and delivered a new stockpile of weapons to a village. Even at this point in history War usually assumed a female form, as it amused her greatly to see the looks of shock and surprise on the faces of men that she beat the crap out of, as they always assumed that since she didn't have a penis she couldn't arse-kick. They were wrong.

"Excuse me Mr. Azazel, but you and I have business to discuss," Raphael said weakly, waving to him as War left to go demoralize another town. Gabriel was pleasantly surprised that Raphael hadn't afterwards quickly ascended to Heaven and left Gabriel to deal with it.

Azazel, who looked considerably less threatening during this time period, shrugged and walked over to the two Archangels. "Hey Raphael, … You…"

"I am Gabriel," he informed him haughtily.

"Oh, right. I knew you were one of them. So what can I do for you gentlemen?"

Raphael looked terribly uncomfortable as he admitted, "Well, you see, your actions on Earth have been watched and frowned upon, because they promote Vanity and Idol Worship, and as such I'm going to have to ask you to stop."

"And two of you needed to do that?" Azazel asked with a raised eyebrow. "You do this all the time, and then I 'stop,' and then you tell me again…"

"Well by 'asking you to stop' I really mean I'm going to have to Bind you to Hell for a thousand or so years," Raphael admitted.

Azazel snickered. "Oh. Yes, I'm sure you are."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow and looked at Raphael, who had gotten a frown line on his brow. "Excuse me Mr. Azazel," Raphael replied, looking a bit offended, "I am more than capable of doing as such. I have chosen not to in the past because I was always willing to give you a chance to reconsider your actions."

"Mmmhmmm. Sure. If you'll excuse me, I have to go 'stop doing evil things.'" He was grinning as he turned and walked away.

" _You do not walk away from me, Azazel_ ," Raphael snarled (making Gabriel's mouth drop), " _I am the Seraph Archangel Raphael and I demand the respect that I am due!"_

"Uh-huh," said Azazel, turning back to face him with the same eyebrow raised but no fear in his gaze. "Respect you and the whole bit. Can I go now?"

Raphael was glowing now, an angelic sigil appearing around him and his hair being tossed about as by a strong wind. _"You are going to leave, as you have no choice in the matter!"_ As Raphael Spake, the sigil replicated to encircle a very, very shocked-looking Azazel. " _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica_ _!"_

With a flash of light and a scream, Azazel disappeared from the surface of the Earth.

"Not bad," Gabriel admitted.

"My goodness, I haven't been so, so irked in such a long time," Raphael admitted, calmly dusting his robes off.

"I know, which is what makes that all the more impressive."

"I didn't find it all that impressive," Raphael replied, staring at where Azazel had once been. "Really, the whole business is-"

 _"DUDE THAT WAS AWESOME!_ " exclaimed a voice, and suddenly Raphael found himself being glomped by an Archangel much larger than himself. "With the chanting and the, the glowing – that was a Uriel smite, so next I have to get you smiting with a sword, and that'll be even _awesomer_ , and-"

"Hush, Michael," Gabriel interjected sharply. "Aren't you supposed to be delivering Messages?"

"I am," Michael replied, "I'm delivering this highly-important message to tell Raphael how awesome he is."

"Thank you for the sentiment, dear," Raphael said sweetly, patting Michael on the head. "But you can continue your duties of being the Warrior, please. I'll stay with Healing."

"Fine by me!" Michael grinned broadly. Then he looked surprised. "Um, Raphael, I have another message for you: apparently you're needed for an emergency Healing because Uriel-"

Raphael didn't need to hear what exactly Uriel had done, Ascending with all due haste and forgetting about Azazel completely.

Azazel, however, began formulating a plot for his Revenge.

_End Flashback_

* * *

Back in France, after resting up a bit, the three angels and two demons began walking through the forest to their destination, which turned out to be closer than they had anticipated.

Belial, in order to throw off any suspicions on his person regarding a certain Archangel, sidled up to Aziraphale and smiled charmingly. "So, it's nice to see that all angels aren't so opposed to demons. Truly a step in the right direction."

Aziraphale demurely thanked him with a blush on his cheekbones.

"I'm just surprised it took Crowley so long to ask you into a relationship," he purred, "Considering your obvious appeal."

"Er?" Aziraphale asked, the blush extending from his cheeks to his entire face.

"You're obviously quite congenial," he continued, "And quite easy to look at, especially with those lovely wings and those beautiful eyes."

"Be-beaut-"

"It's simply a shame that angels are monogamous," Belial said with a sigh. "Really, eternity is a long time to spend with one partner, and it's simply unfair that the rest of us don't get to experience having an angel as a lover."

Aziraphale nearly walked into a tree.

"I've had my share of them over the centuries of course. They're so giving and so very _appreciative._ The trick of course is to get them interested, but that's not so hard, as so many of them are quite curious about the pleasures of the flesh." He smiled at Aziraphale winningly. "Like you. And you haven't regretted it yet, I bet."

"Y-y-yes," Aziraphale stammered, trying to remove his tartan sweater vest in a way that he subconsciously hoped was alluring.

He threw an arm around Aziraphale's shoulders. "Good for you! No need for shame, you know. There's nothing wrong with pleasuring your partner and getting pleasure in return, nothing wrong with that at all. I'm not even sure why it's considered a problem with your people anyway."

"Because it's lust and a sin," Raphael said curtly, wrapping his arm around his foster-son's waist and tugging him away, "unless it's with someone you _love_." Like most people with parents, Aziraphale's arousal abruptly died when his father showed up. "Like Crowley and Aziraphael love each other." He reached up and brushed Aziraphale's hands away from where they had gotten about half of his sweater vest undone.

Belial sighed. "So old-fashioned," he said mournfully, although really he hadn't actively tried to seduce many people since his infatuation with Uriel hit its peak and thus he didn't mind. Not that he would have said no had Aziraphale propositioned him, but he wasn't going out of his way to actively get in the angel's robes.

"Yes," said Aziraphale, not entirely sure who or what he was agreeing to or with.

Azazel shuddered from where he was walking with Uriel. "That's revolting."

"What is?" Uriel asked.

"Touching something associated with _him_ ," Azazel sneered, referring to Raphael.

"Him who?"

Finally Azazel realized who he was talking to and amended, "No one."

"You're weirder than that other one," Uriel admitted. "Ooo, look at that!"

In the distance there was a large gothic mansion covered with vines and surrounded by a large iron gate. Despite the fact that it was a sunny day, the huge building was framed by dark clouds, and plant-life in the courtyard between the gate and the building was dead.

"Can you feel that?" Uriel asked, coming to stand next to Raphael and Aziraphale. "It's… so very _evil_."

"There's definitely something demonic about the place," Aziraphale agreed, "and yet, that's not what's evil about it."

"I suppose we have no choice but to go in and find out what's going on in there," Raphael admitted. "Are you up to it, Zizi?"

"Of course," he said. "I'm feeling just fine now."

"Just checking; you know I'm worried about you, baby, and you are a bit pale." Raphael could tell Aziraphael wasn't quite up to his usual powers, but didn't press him; after all, he had no intention of leaving his son's side anyway. "Uriel, how are you feeling?"

"I'm okay! Let's go find out what's going on in that evil place!"

Azazel rolled his eyes. "Orders are orders," he muttered.

"Let's go," said Belial, and the five flew over the gate and went inside the mansion.


	11. Chapter Nine

Crowley and Gabriel – the latter no longer a mongoose at least – found themselves standing in the courtyard of a glorious white castle, overlooking the picturesque town below. "This looks familiar," Crowley muttered before noticing he was clad in chainmail.

Gabriel was similarly dressed and frowning heavily. "I don't think I want to know."

"Good morrow, travelers!" exclaimed a plate-mail-clad nearly-seven-foot-tall warrior. He magnanimously approached the two, and Crowley noted he was also carrying at least six swords*.

Gabriel, however, noticed something much different. "Uriel? Is that you?" he asked, sounding mildly horrified. Crowley made a confused noise and also focused on this warrior's face – yep, the same curly black hair, and the same large violet eyes.

"That is not my name," said this new arrival. "My name is Zuriel, and I am a ranger. It also turns out that I am really the legendary King of Zgondor. Also, I am the White Wizard, defender of truth and justice here in Slightly to the Right Earth! What are your names, my new friends?"

"Ngk," said Crowley, now really recognizing where they were.

"Uriel, this is absurd," Gabriel said sternly. "Stop this at once. You are _not_ some hero of an overexposed novel ser – no, excuse me, you haven't _read_ the novels." He sounded quite derisive of this point. "Regardless, you are not the hero of an overexposed _movie_ series."

"My name is not Uriel," the knight replied emphatically, "It is Zuriel! Regardless, you two appear to be very noble individuals-"

Crowley snorted.

"-would you be willing to aid in the defense of Zminas Ztirith? The forces of the evil Dark Lord Zchamuel are coming to attack the city within twenty-four hours. Zgondor has called for aid, but it may be awhile before it arrives." Zuriel shook his head solemnly. "I merely hope my two good zhobbit friends Zaziraphael and Zkireawel are doing all right in their quest to take and destroy the One True Chocolate Bar."

"It's worse than I thought," Gabriel murmured to Crowley, who was having a very hard time imagining himself as a hobbit.

Zuriel gave them both pleading expressions. "Please help?" he asked with a little wibble.

Despite Zuriel being taller than the real Uriel, he was just as cute, and so Crowley and Gabriel had little choice but to give in.

"Squee!" Zuriel exclaimed, "Allow me to introduce you to my Zfellowship!"

"You didn't need to put a z in front of the real words too…" Crowley protested a little helplessly.

"I'm certain I have no idea what you're talking about! Anyway, those are my friends Zmichael and Zgabriel!" He gestured to two squabbling figures in the distance. "Zmichael is a noble dwarf, and Zgabriel is a graceful elf! Both of them have been my friends throughout our incredible journey!"

"Ha ha, he cast Michael as the shortest one," Gabriel said passionlessly, deciding to ignore his own casting. "Perhaps I ought to get Uriel a pair of high heels to make him feel better…"

"That would be a good idea," said Zuriel sagely.

"Hey, ah, Zuriel, is there any way you can rush this?" Crowley asked, "Twenty-four hours is way too much time. We're kind of on a schedule, and I figure the artifact we're looking for is that ring – er, chocolate bar you're talking about."

"But the chocolate bar is evil, tempting though it is," Zuriel said with a frown, "You really oughtn't use it at all, even in the name of Good, as it will foully corrupt you in the end. I mean, look at my hips! Simply dreadful."

"This is just sad," said Gabriel. "Uriel isn't sure who is who any more, is he? _Your_ hips are flawless I'm certain, judging from how easily you're wearing that armor. _Uriel_ is concerned about _his_ figure. Which, it needs to be said, is completely fine as well, the odd dear."

"Sure," said Zuriel, completely baffled and not afraid to show it.

"Do I want to know what you did to Raphael?" Crowley asked.

"To who?"

Crowley sighed and felt a little bit dirty as he said, "Zraphael."

"My noble lady and future wife?"

Gabriel winced visibly. "There is so much wrong with this entire scenario, there really is."

Crowley, who used to work for Belial and thus knew of his boss' seductions, also winced on his behalf. From all appearances, there was no Zbelial.

"Oh, there is," said Zuriel, "Or, there will be; I just can't decide who he should be yet. He's very confusing."

"Um…"

"Oh, yeah, I can read minds too."

Crowley had no good response to that.

"Again, might we flash forward a bit? To the climactic battle at the end, so we might find this elusive artifact?" Gabriel asked.

"Oh, that'd be for the best," Zuriel admitted. "We're coming up to a gigantic section of _INSERT CLIMACTIC BATTLE SCENE HERE_ , and I wasn't entirely sure what to write for this part, so yeah, flash forward!"

* * *

* Three for each hand. And yes, he can use all six at the same time.

* * *

Hazel continued writing down the words that dribbled from Johnny's intoxicated form. It was _such_ an annoyance that the limits of her foresight hadn't been rectified yet, but there was only so much she could do about that. Instead she had to fill in the holes in her visions, the things she couldn't see, from another source. At least they had led her to the source itself.

It was intriguing, really, that, despite Heaven's anti-Humanity stance at the moment, Revelations was still being rewritten by a human. More proof of how the theocracy was flawed.

Johnny was dripping sweat and she dabbed his forehead. Another pity was that she was going to kill him once he was done talking. There was no sense in leaving him around on the off-chance one of her enemies discovered the prophet, was there? One death wouldn't hurt anyone, except for him. One death to save the billions of people that Hazel needed to protect.

"The first angel," Johnny gasped out, "drew his sword and challenged the shining deceiver, though their great conflict of ages did not end, for the Adversary deceived His Father and united the four corners against Him… The second angel drew his sword and cast out the Betrayer from the Silver City and the Sight; praise be to the glory of the Most High and blessed are His People…"

Hazel sighed even as she continued scrawling. Honestly, couldn't they have chosen a sober individual to make their prophet? She, very familiar with odd phrases and imagery, had some semblance of an idea as to what was being told to her, but how much of it was literal and how much of it was figurative?

But from what she had gathered, she had been right in her assumption that this Heaven and Hell alliance was a fractured, weak thing that would easily be outlived. All she needed to do was guide Humanity into surviving long enough so that Heaven and Hell destroyed each other.

Johnny convulsed a little bit before murmuring, "And the third angel drew his sword and defended the angels and…"

"Oh, ma'am," another of the woman's advisors asked, having come out with tea, " Here's your tea, and… well, we've been hearing reports of the activities of a self-proclaimed Antichrist, and he-"

"Any attempts at communication will fail," she replied sweetly, looking up even as her hand kept writing. "There isn't a point trying to work with him. He won't hurt _our_ cause, at the very least. Now, I am sorry, but please refrain from interrupting us again; this is very important business."

"May I ask, Ms. Alsip…?"

Her smile brightened. "Why, my friend, we are rewriting fate."

* * *

He had unleashed the Horde upon a small rural American town, which had been completely annihilated. As a result, the Horde had grown in size considerably and was hungry for more.

Pestilence smiled broadly at this latest turn of events.

"From here we shall grow in number and power," Pestilence proclaimed to his army, "We shall rise above the limitations that we thought we had! We shall destroy Humanity, and from there we shall launch an attack on Heaven and Hell itself! My warriors, my Horde, nothing shall hold us back! Pestilence is Riding Anew and shall claim his place at the head of the Horsepersons!" He laughed and spread his arms wide. " _ALL SHALL DIE IN GLORIOUS DECAY!"_

"Brains," agreed one of his zombies.

Pestilence abruptly sighed, mourning the mood. "After we figure out how to stop that."

"Brains," it said mournfully, feeling chastised.

"No, no, it's not your fault," Pestilence said sweetly, patting the undead on the head, "it's a flaw in your design. Once I fix it you'll be better, I promise."

"Brains," it said lovingly.

"Brains," agreed the Horde.

* * *

"Who was the demon who assigned us to do this?" Gabriel asked with a dark look on his face.

"That would be Samael," Crowley replied with a sigh.

"He is also so very dead."

"You're starting to sound like Michael, you know, with the list of murders you want to commit."

"For that, your death shall be the most painful."

The two of them were standing at the front of a gigantic army but behind Zuriel, who was riding atop a –

"How cute, a pegacorn," Gabriel sneered.

"Well, he _does_ want one," Crowley admitted.

\- that was shimmering and white, flapping its large angelic wings in preparation of carrying its benevolent master into battle against the forces of the evil Dark Lord Zchamuel.

"You may feel that this battle is hopeless, my mighty warriors, but it is not so!" Zuriel cried out, raising one of his many finely-crafted swords dramatically. "Why, at this very moment, two young zhobbits are taking the Bar to the fiery depths of Mount Zdoom, and once they do so, the evil Zeye of Zchamuel will be no more!"

Crowley was actually thankful that "he" was cast as a hobbit, considering it meant he spent all of his time off-screen apparently. It was easy to see which parts of the story Uriel had little to no interest in.

"But wait!" called out Zmichael the dwarf, "How can two little zhobbits accomplish such a task by themselves? Yarrr I be a good dwarf."

"You are stupid, Zmichael," said Zgabriel the elf. "Not at all graceful and intelligent like me, the elf."

Gabriel was clenching his fists so hard he was drawing his own blood. "I do not talk like that," he growled.

Crowley snickered to show his opinion on that matter, and Gabriel smacked him on the back of the head.

"That is a very good question, Zmichael!" Zuriel called out loud enough so that everyone could hear him, "Why, I have the power of projection, and I have projected an avatar of myself to aid Zaziraphael and Zcrowley!"

Crowley felt mildly offended that Uriel didn't care enough about him to make sure his name stayed the same.

"And they needed it, because I slew the gigantic spider and the trolls and the lots of other stuff. And that one evil zhobbit with the speaking problem? Totally smote. Not to mention that cave troll in the first book, which I took out by myself. Oh, did I mention I have the power to see the future? Because I do. I foresaw the betrayal of Zzerachiel as he attempted to take the Chocolate Bar, but I thwarted him and then redeemed him so he died nobly, because I also have the ability to see into a person's soul and bring out their true inner beauty. He also has a younger brother, Zraguel, who hasn't done anything yet because I keep forgetting to put him in! But really who can be expected to remember every character in this series, especially considering they all look alike with their scruffy beards?"

"Wait a minute," said Gabriel.

"Are you saying," continued Crowley.

"that you could"

" _have given us the stupid chocolate bar before?_ " they demanded in unison.

Zuriel had the grace to look ashamed. "You didn't ask," he said awkwardly, "Besides, it's evil, and, ah, um."

Gabriel held out a hand and put on his sternest look.

Zuriel handed over a chocolate bar. It was well over 2000 calories.

Gabriel and Crowley stared at the chocolate bar before Crowley admitted, "Considering anyone who eats it would die of a heart attack, I say it's the bloody weapon and that we get out of here."

"Agreed," Gabriel said tersely.

"But what about my army?" Zuriel asked with a wibble.

"I think you're forgetting your incredible power to make everyone who sees you want to join your cause," Crowley said pointedly. "You know, your extreme powers of charisma?"

"… … … Yes," said Zuriel slowly, a smile appearing on his face as he liked what he was thinking of, "my new people powers. Of course, how could I have forgotten about them! Why, the forces of Zchamuel will be convinced to aid me once they are aware of my-"

"Good luck and all that," Gabriel snapped, grabbing Crowley and Ascending.

* * *

Samael was back in his office when the two chainmail-clad angels walked in with weapons drawn.

"You are going to accept this chocolate bar as a sign of our having accomplished this mission," Gabriel said tersely, "and you are _going_ to send someone up to heal Aziraphael, or else I am going to drag you to Earth and destroy you, treaty or no treaty!"

Crowley coughed something that suspiciously sounded like "Michael."

"This needs to end before I have a rage-induced coronary."

"Whatever," said Samael with a sigh, not at all surprised that what should have been a wild-goose chase ended up actually netting some sort of artifact, even if it was just a chocolate bar. After all, he knew what it was like to have no luck in anything ever.

Even as Samael was lamenting his poor lot in life, Gabriel and Crowley finally Ascended back to the cottage in the South Downs.

It is very telling that Samael managed to feel forlorn that he wasn't even allowed to order anyone to do the healing, considering Azazel had already defied orders and done it himself. Pouting, Samael went to go enjoy this chocolate bar and take a really long nap.


	12. Chapter Ten

Meanwhile, the Bentley was feeling rather giddy for the first time in a long time.

It knew better than to allow relative strangers to drive it, and was fond enough of Crowley to embrace that rule even without any sort of influence from the former demon in question. That being said, one day many years ago the Bentley had seen Michael and it had fallen in love with the sexy, muscular warrior angel, with his golden curls and his beautiful dark celestial blue eyes, and that strong jaw, and those tight jeans, and mmmmm… How could it resist letting Michael have a ride? Especially considering where that meant his arse had to be… oh and what an arse it was… *

"This is a pretty sweet car," Michael admitted, patting the dashboard as they flew across the English Channel and into France, "I'm glad I kidnapped you."

So was the Bentley.

" _Hey there summer-boy, let's go for a drive; take me for a ride, never gonna close our eyes…"_

* * *

* Voted Best Arse in Creation since the vote's inception! Michael simply can't stress that enough.

* * *

The Fangirl Layer of Hell was silent at this wholly unexpected turn of events.

"Um…" said one awkwardly, looking around to see what her companions had to say about _this_.

" _MICHAEL/BENTLEY OTP!"_ cried a lone, unashamed fangirl.

" _MICHAEL/BENTLEY OTP!_ " became the war cry of many a new fangirl. They were immediately beset by the Michael/Lucifer and the Michael/Gabriel Fangirls, and a vicious battle broke out.

* * *

" _Let's have some fun this beat is sick, I wanna take a ride on your disco stick_!" the Bentley sang sweetly, serenading Michael as they drove through France. The Bentley hoped the point was getting across, as it had switched around between the Lady's more sexually-oriented songs for the entire trip.

"Does this car play nothing else?" Michael asked, sounding disappointed. "I mean it's catchy, but…"

The song instantly stopped, and the Bentley waited in anticipation for Michael to make his request.

"Eh, never mind," he muttered, "I need to think anyway." He began pondering exactly what he was going to do. The Bentley scowled inwardly and began plotting how to continue its quest for Michael's sexy, muscular heart.

The truth be told, Michael had no idea where to begin. So the name Dämonverderben was German, but there was no way that this punk would be in need of a Heavenly Smackdown if just chilling in Germany. So where to –

He glanced in the Bentley's rearview mirror and his eyes widened. There was a – a – a _thing_ chasing him and it was coming up _fast_.

He jerked the steering wheel and careened off the road, spinning before coming to a rest in the grass.

It looked sort of like a rhinoceros covered in maggots, Michael mused. And he could _feel_ demonic energy – weak, but there – radiating from it. "Ooo, I can say it," Michael said with a grin, "What the _Hell_ is that!"

Ignoring his (clever) pun, the rhinoceros creature charged with a roar thing – a hiss roar scream-like thing.

"Ew," said Michael and he hit the gas.

He watched it follow him in the rearview mirror. They were equal speeds so there was no way it was going to catch up to him, but still, there was really no way he could kill it – at least not easily. It was fast and it was large, so the moment Michael left the Bentley he would be vulnerable, but there was no way he could pilot the Bentley and fight the monster at the same time, especially not at a long distance; Michael excelled in close-distance fights. He didn't have much to offer here.

"If only Uriel were here," he muttered.

"But I am," Uriel pointed out from his place in the passenger seat.

Michael, although he would never admit it, jumped in shock and the Bentley veered to the side before Michael corrected it. "Where did you – how did you-"

"Hmm, maybe I don't have magical bring-people-to-me powers; maybe I have magical bring-me-to-people powers…" Uriel mused. "Ooo, Michael, we're being chased by a thing."

"So I noticed, Little Buddy."

"You know how we were told Humanity was making nasty demonic monstrosities? I think that's one of them. It's not demony enough to be, you know, something from Hell. Regardless, we should destroy it."

"That was my idea. I drive, you smite?"

Uriel nodded. "Try to not jerk around too much." He climbed out the window and stood up on top of the Bentley.

"This isn't going to go well," Michael said thoughtfully as he tried his best to stay in a straight line so he didn't accidentally knock the precariously-balanced Uriel off the top.

Uriel swung his arms, commanding the Presence that flowed through him, and with a flashy spin, a pure Presence beam emerged from the sky, hitting the demon-rhino in the leg and knocking it off course. Its leg steaming, it let out a roar of pain and continued running after them, its speed increasing in its rage.

"Hmm," said Uriel, "that usually works."

Michael glanced in the rear-view mirror. It was going to catch up to them, so rather than waiting and letting it rear-end them, he pressed his foot on the gas and stood up so his top half was out of the window, grabbing Uriel and yanking him back into the car. Of course this ended up with Michael having a lap full of Archangel, and involved a fair amount of miracles so Uriel didn't end up with his top half outside, but it was better than Uriel going flying off the top.

"Hey!" Uriel protested. "What was that for?"

In answer, Michael jerked the steering wheel hard, sending the Bentley into a spin and veering off to the side. The demon-rhino ran by harmlessly.

"Oh," Uriel said with a blush. "Thanks!"

"Go get 'im," Michael replied, driving off in the opposite direction. Uriel moved to climb out the other window again and was nearly knocked into the dashboard when Michael had to move the car abruptly out of the way of a truck speeding down the road. The truck driver then seemed to notice the enormous maggoty thing and abruptly got off the roadway and raced off into the plains.

Michael, an angel, did not flip off the other driver. Considering who was in the truck, it was a good thing he didn't.

Uriel finally got back on top of the car. He frowned as he regarded the nasty thing running towards them, especially since he could smell it and that was ickytastic. He wasn't sure if that was a word, but if it wasn't, it really should be. He decided that if Daddy ever said he could, he'd get rid of all the nasty stuff – bugs, baby bugs, worms, spiders, snakes –

Er, oh, right, smiting time. He closed his eyes and focused. The Presence flowed through him as it always did, and while he typically disliked using the Lord's Power to destroy things, sometimes things simply needed destruction. He raised his hand and –

The car abruptly jerked to the side, and Uriel went flying off the hood, flailing his arms and wailing. He closed his eyes and braced himself for impact with the ground, but then he was suddenly caught by one muscular arm.

He opened his eyes. He was now being held by Michael and they were on a miracled motorbike. "Sorry about that," Michael said as he helped Uriel get behind him. "We were about to go under a bridge and you were about to get your head knocked off, heh, oops."

"Ohhh," said Uriel. "Well, we should have helmets on motorbikes. Raphy would say so if he were here."

Michael miracled Uriel a helmet on his head, and Uriel frowned at the plainness of it before Michael reminded him to hurry up and start pwning the evil thing. Michael did a u-turn on the motorbike and started riding back towards the demon-rhino, which did not stop running at them.

Uriel screamed in shock and threw up a shield in front of them.

Upon impact, Michael hastily turned to the side, almost but not quite knocking the motorbike off balance. The demon-rhino spectacularly exploded.

Michael finally swung the motorbike around and eased it to a stop, resting his feet on the ground. "Not bad, L. B."

"Did you give my nickname a nickname?" Uriel breathed in awe.

"I can do that," Michael said with a winning grin. "Thanks for the help. You should probably get back to Raphael before he has an anxiety attack. How's the Nerd?"

"Who?"

Michael gave a long-suffering sigh. "Aziraphael."

"Ohhh. Well some evil demon guy healed him. Honestly they're all so _weird_. But Raphy, Zizi, Belbel, that guy and I are going to take out the people who made that weird demon rhino thing."

"Good to hear." He turned his head to give his little brother a fond kiss on the cheek. "Tell Raphael I said hi. Tell the Nerd he's still a nerd."

"Okay! Bye Michael!" Uriel exclaimed before disappearing.

Michael looked down at the motorbike he was sitting on. "So do I want to keep using you, or go back to the car?"

The car in question had come to a stop and was looking at him forlornly.

Michael chewed on his lower lip. "Who says I can't use both?" he asked himself with a sudden grin. "I'll just go back and forth! Come along, car!" He picked up his feet and took off on the motorbike.

The Bentley dutifully followed behind him.

_"I'll follow you until you love me…"_

* * *

"I wanted to go fight the rhino thing," War whined from the backseat of the jeep that had sped off. "It was so nasty looking!"

"I know you did, but it doesn't matter," Famine chided her from his place behind the wheel. "Don't you want to go revel in the chaos of Humanity's sorrow like the rest of us? You know we have to be more proactive and have a broader range of influence nowadays."

"Well yes," she pouted, "but I also want to beat the crap out of something hands-on style. And besides, Pollution is _really_ getting on my nerves with his constant angsting."

"I'm sitting right here," the young boy said sourly, and his companions wrinkled their noses at the sudden smell. "Just because no one ever notices me doesn't mean I like it all the time, you know, and especially not from you people."

"No one is ignoring you," Famine said yet again. "I'm sure Pestilence didn't mean anything by it."

War grinned. "He sure did," she chimed in, "He doesn't liiiike yoooou."

"Shut up!" Pollution cried, his eyes filling with liquid plastic that threatened to drip down his cheeks.

"Nooooboooody liiiikes yoooou!"

" _Shut up!_ " he wailed.

"Both of you calm down," Famine said forcefully, "or else no stopping for ice cream."

"But I love ice cream!" both of his companions protested.

"Well there won't be any when we get there if you don't behave," he said sternly.

"You drive a hard bargain," War said lowly, relaxing in her seat and glaring out the window.

"Can I get Fossil Fuel?" Pollution asked, and Famine vaguely wondered if he meant the Ben & Jerry's ice cream flavor or just real fossil fuel.

"As long as you don't get Chubby Hubby."

* * *

In theory, Michael could have miracled himself knowledge of where this Demonsbane was. While the Heavenly Code of Ethics labeled such a tactic as Cheating and therefore Heavily Frowned Upon, there was really no one to hold _Michael_ accountable; being chastised for one's actions is something that happens to other people.

Regardless, Michael was opposed to cheating, so the only advantage he gave himself was the innate sense of What Is Really The Truth.

So far, no luck.

But he had good feelings about this one. It was a bar, and there were humans in it, and from the feel of it, a dead demon or two. That was probably a good sign. Dead demons were always good, in his estimation.

He parked his motorbike and strode into the bar, humming to himself as he did so.

"Duh-dun dun dun dun dun," he sang softly, looking around. There were only two patrons in the bar along with the bar tender. "Oh I'm a cowboy…" He placed a hand down on the bar – the part where they served stuff.* "I'm looking for information," he said, putting on his best _I'm trying to be nice but I'll still kick your arse_ look.

The bartender was cleaning a glass, and the two patrons looked up at him warily. "I don't _sell_ information. I sell drinks. Buy a drink and we'll talk."**

"I'll take the strongest thing you've got," Michael said as confidently as he could, despite the fact that he didn't drink ever. "And lots of it."

* * *

* Michael had spent a lot of downtime between gigs watching television, actually, especially old movies, so while he had the knowledge of what to do, sort of, he had no idea what any of the actual items involved were.

** Yes, everyone here is speaking French. But for simplicities sake, and because Michael actually knows French (well, a very old version, considering he counseled Joan of Arc back in the day, but he may or may not have "cheated" and miracled himself knowledge of _modern_ French as well), everything's translated for your convenience. And certainly not because the authoress doesn't know French.

* * *

After about three hours in that bar with his new friends Jean-Claude, Pierre and Rene, he finally sobered up, got the information he needed, and, with a shamed blush, left the bar to get back to work.

Although he did make a mental note about Everclear.

Pierre had been the most helpful (and the nicest, Michael admitted fondly, although all three of them were wonderful people! … … He finally got the extra alcohol out of his system) and had pointed him to the Notre-Dame Cathedral.

He parked his motorbike and the Bentley out front and calmly strode inside. This time he wasn't humming; oh no, he had begun playing his own theme instead.* It echoed back to him off the cathedral walls, and he resisted the urge to grin because that would ruin the sheer amount of _Badass_ that he was giving off.

Much to Michael's glee, Pierre hadn't steered him wrong at all. Michael's target was standing over the corpse of a decapitated demon and drawing holy sigils onto its back with a knife. Considering the size and strength of the dead demon in question, Demonsbane must have dragged the demon inside this holy place in order to finish it off. The figure stood up, and Michael felt awfully tall in comparison, although that wasn't such a surprise as usually Michael was taller than people. It was also cloaked in robes, obscuring any facial or other bodily features.

The figure moved with startling speed and Michael barely had time to raise his sword and fend off the attack. Michael was pressed back, nearly outside the cathedral, where he tucked and rolled aside. Dämonverderben followed and, when Michael crouched and turned, just missed cleaving the archangel's skull.

Demonsbane did a back-flip and reached into the robes and pulled out a large crucifix, murmuring an ancient prayer… to Michael.

Michael gnawed on his lower lip. Oh, this was awkward.

The figure stood defensively, sword out, waiting after the prayer didn't make its opponent the least bit uncomfortable. Michael decided to let this one know exactly who it was dealing with.

"A hero in shining armor has been called upon!" he declared, "A land in turmoil has cried out for a hero! I have the power, to engage in butt-kicking for goodness! So go ahead, make my day! By your powers combined, I am Field Commander of the Army of God, One of the Chief Princes, Advocate of Israel, One Who is Like God, Angel of the Presence, Chief of the Virtues and Archangels, Angel of Truth, the Warrior, Defender of Christians, Patron Saint of Chivalry, Patron Saint of Warriors, Captain of the Host of the Lord, Prince of Light, Viceroy of Heaven, Prince of Israel, First of the Seven Who Stand Before the Lord, Archistratege of God, Prince of Primordial Fire, the Expeller, Supreme Commander of the Heavenly Host, Prince of the Seraphim, the Right Hand of the Lord, Conqueror of Satan, Saint Michael Mikha'el the Archangel! In the name of the Lord, I shall punish you!"**

Crickets chirped for a half-minute until the figure responded in German, "I do not wish to fight you anymore, Saint Michael." The hood came off.

The great Dämonverderben, Demonsbane, Holy Terror that Stalks the Night, was finally revealed.

He was a she.

And she was about 14.

As Michael gaped, she scowled back at him and admitted, "As it stands, you're an angel, my patron – I'd rather not smite you."

"You're a _kid_!" he exclaimed, "How – hoooooooow-"

"I am a nun with the Order of Our Most Holy Lady of the Righteous Smiting," she said importantly.

"Awwww, and you're one of my nuns! Dude, I can't kill you, that's just not cool!"

She scowled more, lowered her weapons, and bowed to him. "Saint Michael, when next we meet, unless you prove yourself to be my ally, it shall be your death day. Nothing can interrupt the importance of my task; not even you." She turned and left.

"Dude, I got be-eeaaaaaaaahhhhh got into a draw. With a kid. Who's a girl." It was Michael's turn to scowl. A 14-year-old demon slayer! And a _girl!_ And she had held her own against him, even almost cut his head off, and she was a nun too! A _nun!_ And she had – she was - what the crap was going on here! He couldn't kill a teenage nun! Not only would she probably kill him back, but _she was a teenage nun!_ Helloooo ethics!

He gave a decisive nod. "As far as anyone knows, she was a he and he was huge, probably a giant or something. I'll think of specifics."

He looked around the cathedral awkwardly. This wasn't good. This _really_ wasn't good. Yes he knew his assignment was to kill her, but he really didn't _want_ to, and surely there was something else he could be doing instead…

His Gabe-Sense started tingling.

"Squee!" he said, bouncing up and down a bit. "The G-Meister's back Up! Oo, this is just perfect!" He could find Gabriel and help him do something else, all while telling people he was still looking for the 8-foot-tall, 300-pound Nephil. Yeah, a Nephil. That was way better than a teenage nun.

While walking out of the cathedral, he wondered if it being a Nephil was cool enough, and also if Gabriel was okay from spending so long in Hell. He grinned, got on his motorbike, and decided that if Gabriel wasn't all right, he'd _make_ him all right.

* * *

* Although he doesn't approve of the title, it's "Battle Without Honor or Humanity" from _Kill Bill Vol. 1_. And actually he has at least six themes; this is just the one that felt the most appropriate at the moment.

** Michael stole all of those lines (except for his titles). Bonus points if you know where he took them from.


	13. Chapter Eleven

Crowley and Gabriel appeared back in the cottage in the South Downs – the _empty_ cottage, Crowley noted with a quickening heart-rate. This was either a very bad or a very good sign.

He looked to Gabriel for confirmation; the Archangel looked as pleased as he was capable of expressing. "Ah. Someone healed Aziraphael while we were down there. Excellent."

Crowley couldn't help the feeling of relief but still had to question, "Are you _sure?"_

Instantly the scowl returned. "Of course I am sure. I can sense Raphael, and even if he were not clearly elated at something, the fact remains that he did not kill himself in the interim, which I suspect he would have done had his 'precious baby Zizi' failed to live."

"Do you have any idea where they are now?"

"That is harder to pinpoint. Uriel is with them, and they are… awfully far away, I want to say somewhere southeast of us? But while I can still sense their emotions, we're much too far away for actual communication."

"Does that mean they're no longer in Britain?"

"Yes, it does."

"And you said Uriel was with them, right? What about Michael?" When it came to safety, he trusted Michael much more than Uriel to remember that angels are not for smiting. *

Gabriel inclined his head in the other direction thoughtfully. "The moron is somewhere far south of here. And he is _jubilant_. That frightens me."

"Eh, he's stupid but harmless." Crowley started toward the cottage door.

"You say that, but I have found the stupidity is extremely harmful to my sanity."

Crowley opened the door.

**_"WHERE THE FLYING FUCK IS MY CAR?!"_ **

"Your car is the flying fuck with Michael, I believe," Gabriel replied, nonplussed by Crowley's seething rage. "I know you have many protections on that car which would prevent just anyone from taking it, and judging from his amusement, he has stolen it."

_"Where. Isssss. He?"_

"Where he is located is none of your concern. I will handle Michael. _Your_ concern is finding Aziraphael and letting him know that you are all right before he inevitably descends to Hell himself to find you."

Crowley didn't waver. "Aziraphale'll be fine, but my poor baby won't be in the hands of that, that-"

"That incomprehensibly Michael creature, I know." Gabriel looked at Crowley square in the eye and said, "There are two Archdemons with them. From the feelings of their auras, I know one of them is _Belial."_

Crowley thought about it for approximately one second before sprinting out of the cottage.

Gabriel cracked his knuckles. "I will feel much better once I reprove that moron for becoming a car thief," he said to the empty cottage. He exited it, locked the door behind him, spread his wings and took off to go find said moron.

* * *

* That being said, he trusted _neither_ of them to remember that Crowley is not for smiting either.

* * *

Evilosoth the Conqueror, Destroyer of Worlds' armour had been drenched in so much blood – celestial, occult and human – that it had all been absorbed, infusing the new Antichrist with more strength and durability. In fact, when in the dark, he glowed now.

He also had a veritable army.

"Through the actions of Evilosoth the Conqueror, Destroyer of Worlds, our town has been saved from utter annihilation!" declared a politician dramatically.

"Three cheers for Evilosoth the Conqueror, Destroyer of Worlds!" exclaimed an older woman.

"Hip hip, hooray! Hip hip, hooray! Hip hip, hooray!"

Evilosoth the Conqueror, Destroyer of Worlds shrugged.

A woman slipped out of the chanting crowd, frowning as she made her way down an alley. She was wearing a shiny black leotard, elbow-length shiny black gloves, and her hair was stylized into a bow, but because she didn't want to be noticed, no one noticed her.

This was bad. This was very, very bad. Of course she knew that her confrontation with the aforementioned Antichrist was inevitable, but at this point her own death was an event to be looked upon fondly, once per year, and celebrated with ducks and chocolate. That wasn't the part that was upsetting to her.

He wasn't just one Antichrist. He was _two_.

She had gone under the assumption that Adam's powers had been passed on to his descendant, but upon closer viewing, they hadn't; they had been added on to already-present power. Or it was vice-versa and the latter Antichrist had somehow come into power equal to Adam's on top of Adam's; regardless, there was simply no way she, or anyone, could defeat him the way he was now. Especially not if humans kept coming to him like mosquitoes to a bug-zapper.

The woman walked up to a lonely car and wasn't the least bit perturbed when it opened for her. She sat in the driver's seat and the older vehicle dutifully started up.

_"And Jesus, he knows me, and he knows I'm right…"_

"Oh, Phil, you're so smarmy," she said affectionately.

_"… I've been talking to – JESUS?"_

_"_ Hello, Adam," replied she who was called Immanuel, "it's nice to hear from you again."

_"YOU TOO! I FIGURED ONCE I MANAGED TO GET MY SORRY ARSE ASSASINATED I'D NEVER GET TO TALK TO YOU AGAIN. SO WHAT SIDE ARE YOU ON THIS TIME?"_

She sighed, leaning back in the seat. "Well, at the moment, just Heaven's. Last time it was a lot easier, you know? But your replacement is running around and rallying people, and causing a lot of damage in the meantime, and well, suddenly Humanity's _not_ dying is a lot worse than their being wiped out. I just don't like not being able to tell if it's really their fault."

 _"WELL, IT KINDA IS AND KINDA ISN'T_ ," Adam replied reasonably, " _I MEAN, ME VERSION 2.0 SPED THINGS UP A LOT BY MAKING SURE PEOPLE REMEMBERED HOW THEY ALMOST DIED TWICE, BUT THEN AGAIN, IF I DIED OF OLD AGE ANYWAY THE SAME THING WOULDA HAPPENED. BUT WHO KNOWS IF ALL THOSE YEARS WOULD'VE MADE A DIFFERENCE, YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN?"_

"Good point," she replied musingly, "When you put it like that, before Evilosoth of the multiple titles, there was someone who overcame your mental block and she already was rallying people. At first We were worried about her, but now, she just doesn't seem as important by comparison."

_"NIGH-OMNIPOTENT DEATH POWERS CAN DO THAT TO PEOPLE."_

"Yeah. Speaking of those. Your replacement is quite the metaphysical powerhouse."

_"NO KIDDING. I KNOW HE GOT MY POWERS WHEN HE TURNED ELEVEN, BUT ALL HIS HUMAN-KILLING STUFF HAS GIVEN HIM EVEN **MORE.** "_

"Oh," said Jesus with sudden understanding. "He isn't two Antichrists, then."

_"NOPE. HELL ONLY GIVES THAT POWER TO ONE PERSON. HE GOT THE REST OF IT BY TAKING THE POWER OF THE STUFF HE KILLED. YOU MEAN YOU THOUGHT…? UH… THAT'S NOT GOOD, IS IT…"_

"No," she replied apologetically, "it's really not. Is there any way… hmm… you could, you know, take your powers back? With your powers gone, it wouldn't be quite so laughable to take him on."

_"ER. LET ME CONFER WITH MY CRACK TEAM OF SPECIALISTS-"_

"Hello Pepper, Wensleydale and Brian!" she called cheerfully.

_"ACTUALLY, THEY'RE ON LUNCH BREAK RIGHT NOW. BUT YEAH, IT'S THEM. WE'RE THINKING OF GIVING OURSELVES ANOTHER GROUP NAME, BUT NOTHING SEEMS TO REALLY FIT."_

"How did they take the whole 'being zapped to Hell' thing?" she inquired.

_"OH, YOU KNOW. BRIAN WAS THRILLED."_

"Oh really," she said dryly.

 _"PEPPER HIT ME A LOT, CALLED ME A PIG, SAID I TOOK HER FREEDOM FROM HER. THEN I TOLD HER WHAT HER JOB WAS GONNA BE AND SHOWED HER THE KIND OF HORRIBLE SOULS AND DEMONS DOWN HERE THAT NEED HER TO BEAT THE TAR OUT OF THEM, AND SHE TOOK IT A LOT BETTER._ "

"Oh, that's good."

_"AND WENSLEYDALE… WELL, HE DOES MY TAXES… IT'S NOT GREAT… BUT I GUESS IT'S BETTER THAN GETTING KILLED IN ARMAGEDDON, RIGHT?"_

"Didn't he run a food corporation before? I imagine taxes are just as boring."

" _RIGHT, THAT WAS ONE OF MY THOUGHTS, TOO."_

"But then," Jesus murmured, "it's sort of arguable as to whether or not you're doing him a favor by not letting him just die."

Silence greeted that proclamation. _"YOU'RE MEAN,"_ Adam said at length.

She giggled, albeit self-consciously. "The truth hurts, I guess."

_"UM… YEAH, SO ANYHOW, HOW DO I GET IN TOUCH WITH YOU ONCE I HEAR THEIR OPINIONS? DO YOU GUYS STILL USE GLOWING BEAMS OF LIGHT? ALTHOUGH NOW THAT I THINK ABOUT IT, **I** DON'T USE A GLOWING BEAM OF LIGHT SO THAT DOESN'T DO ME ANY GOOD…"_

Jesus pulled out her custom-made Blackberry. "Yeah, let me give you my number."

There was another spell of silence even longer than the first. _"SERIOUSLY? HEAVEN ISSUES BLACKBERRYS NOW?"_

"I was on Earth for a number of years," Jesus retorted, declining to mention that she was still Daddy's Little Girl and thus got whatever she wanted.

" _POOR AZIRAPHALE, HE MUST BE SO LOST."_

"He does have Crowley at least, but yes, he still tends to contact Heaven with candles." Jesus sighed fondly. "That silly boy."

_"OKAY, I HAVE A PEN AND PAPER HANDY, SO HIT ME."_

Jesus gave Adam her number, the two bid adieu, and the Christ left the borrowed car and walked back to find the crowd, feeling a sense of optimism that she hoped wouldn't prove false.

* * *

Crowley only had the vaguest idea of where Aziraphale had gone. Gabriel was the Messenger and so had the special ability to find anyone wherever they happened to be, but Crowley only had the very faint traces of Aziraphale's aura to guide him.

But the thought of his naïve, sexually-repressed angel with _Belial_ filled him with rage –

Until he remembered that Raphael was with Aziraphale too, and he calmed down. Many an intimate moment had been thwarted by Raphael. He was practically the Patron Angel of Cock-Blocking. Unintentional Cock-Blocking, so you couldn't rightly get mad at him because he wasn't _planning_ on it, he just had awful timing.

As he flew, Crowley got a thoughtful look on his face as he pondered the thought that maybe Raphael _did_ mean to do it, in which case he was going to have to lock him out of the house somehow.

That was all beside the point! The point was that he had to find Aziraphale.

Crowley reached out with his aura, trying to find his angel, and stopped in the middle of the air as he noticed he could sense two of him.

He blinked. Two? While the thought of there being two Aziraphales was both alluring and yet somehow extremely horrifying, he had to admit that there was very little chance that the fact he was sensing two of him was a good thing. Especially since he couldn't really tell which one was the real one.

"Eenie meenie miney mo," he murmured before choosing one. Unfortunately for him, he had no idea that the one he'd chosen was the incorrect one.

* * *

"He hurt my feelings," Pollution established.

"Yes," said Famine.

War was having fun hacking away at civilians. They were all weak from hunger and hallucinating from exposure to poisonous fumes.

"I didn't do anything to him, but he hurt me," the youngest Horseperson continued, "Really. Aren't we supposed to be on the same side? It's simply not right."

"I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it."

"I wonder how he'd like it, you know, if I told him I didn't care about him."

"I imagine he wouldn't mind."

"You would take his side, wouldn't you." Pollution pouted, causing a nearby lake to die. Everyone seemed to be ignoring him! Even Famine, the one he thought understood him at least a little, only seemed to be humoring him. Why did everyone like Pestilence better than him?

"I'm not taking anyone's side." Famine sounded resigned, and certainly not interested in this highly important conversation.

"Yes you are; you're taking his side, saying I shouldn't be offended. Well I am! I am quite offended. I think he owes me an apology."

"Of course he does."

"You're not even listening to me."

Famine gave him a Look.

"All right, fine," he admitted, considering he rarely paid attention to anything going on himself. "But still, I am right, aren't I?"

"Of course you are," Famine said with a sigh, patting Pollution on his head before wiping his hand off on his trousers.

"Now you're just humoring me!" he whined.

"Done!" War called back cheerfully, surrounded by moaning corpses. When one stood up, she giggled while jumping up and down in excitement.

Pollution glared, and the zombies began to sizzle in acid.

"Hey, knock it off!" War whined.

Famine sighed, giving up.

Pollution began plotting how to teach Pestilence a lesson for trying to ignore him.

* * *

Crowley had no idea where he had landed, but he didn't let it faze him in the slightest. He simply adjusted his customary shades and sauntered coolly around, giving off an aura of I-may-look-relaxed-but-don't-mess-with-me confidence. He sidestepped into an alley and started walking through it.

Now that he was here, he could sense Aziraphale's aura but it was very weak, and worse, it seemed tainted. He frowned and stopped walking. That seemed very -

In the moments between when Crowley had a full, working spinal cord and when he suddenly didn't, he only had a small inkling that anything was wrong. From the feeling of it, there was someone bathed in holy energy approaching from behind him. In theory he should have been just fine, so he didn't even bother turning around.

In the moments after Crowley's spine had been severed at the small of his back, he collapsed to the floor and likely would have screamed had he not been so deeply in shock. He was then able to feel the tip of a knife slicing open the back of his immaculately-clean clothing and just his back in general, carving a symbol that felt suspiciously – not that Crowley had a good sense of it at that point – like a Cross with the symbol of a Sword on top of it.

Content with this handiwork and knowing that anyone who chanced upon what would eventually be Crowley's corpse would know exactly who finished him off, the figure left. Crowley never saw who it was. Had he been a demon, he would have been very, very dead.

But he wasn't.

Dämonverderben didn't seem to notice that the flash demon she had actually slain was in fact an angel and was not dead, but that wouldn't have concerned her much anyway; the point had been made. She was still a force to be reckoned with.

* * *

_"My Child, brilliant and stoic, what is it you most desire?"_

_The brown-haired angel replied softly, "I want to promote Your Magnificence, Father. I want to help You run Your Kingdom smoothly and efficiently, that through me, Yours will know of Your Order."_

_And so he was named Gabriel, Great One of God, and made the Messenger so that he would spread the Word of God to all corners of Creation, and through him others would know of the Lord's Infallible Justice. He was Content, and the Lord was Pleased._

Gabriel meanwhile continued his search for Michael, only to frown as he could sense that Michael was heading towards _him_ on ground level. At least that practically proved that Michael had, indeed, stolen Crowley's car. Not that Gabriel cared for Crowley's possessions, but that didn't mean he approved of Michael committing larceny. In fact, Gabriel vaguely considered the option of punishing both of them by destroying the car in question. That would be rather cathartic.

His fantasies of destruction of private property came to a screeching halt as he sensed a small group of his brethren suddenly disappear.

Gabriel bit his lip and altered his flight, soaring towards where the Presences of angels had vanished – outside a factory, it seemed. He landed and glanced around before his eyes widened at the sight of ten angels, all dead. A quick closer look asserted none of them were related to him, for which he was thankful, but still he felt the twinges of holy rage.*

There came the sound of a dozen guns being cocked. He froze, closing his eyes and listening for sounds of breathing, any movements from his new hunters. He inwardly swore when he could sense demonic energy from these normal-looking humans. They had cursed guns. He reasoned they must be a group of humans who had decided to hunt angels in particular. This was going to be unpleasant.

Gabriel spread all six of his wings, glowing with a heavenly light. "I am the Seraph Gabriel, the Messenger of the Lord and Archangel of Revelations," he informed them imperiously, for once thankful that he was one of the more popular Archangels**; they would most likely know him by his reputation.

The mob seemed to recognize him, as gasps went through the group. He inwardly debated; half of him wanted to intimidate the humans into leaving him in peace, while half of him wanted to avenge his murdered comrades.

In the end one of them made his decision for him by opening fire. Always the quickest of his Siblings, he easily dodged. He swiftly drew his rapier and dispatched his first attacker.

In response to his sudden aggression they all began shooting at him. While he could have put up a shield and stopped any normal or blessed bullets, he knew that his defenses would be moot in the face of cursed weapons; instead, he focused on dodging and retaliating when possible.

By the time the humans were defeated, Gabriel had been shot only three times. He was quite proud of himself, even though it still was a death sentence.

Keeping his face as stern as possible, he collapsed to his knees and fell forward.

* * *

* He wouldn't be Gabriel if he felt full-on Holy Rage, mind you.

** On the whole, he was almost glad that either he or Humanity was going to cease to exist soon, so long as it meant the end of movies wherein he or Michael was a soulless monster, and the two of them killed each other bloodily.*** While Gabriel wanted to see Michael's demise, he certainly didn't want to betray him or be himself betrayed, or any of that dramatic nonsense.****

*** Michael agreed with this sentiment. It was the first time the two of them agreed on something in thousands of years.

**** Michael just didn't want to be portrayed by "that guy that looks like the one from that TV show about Rome. You know, the guy they made up? Yeah, that one." The others pointed out that if he didn't watch so much television he wouldn't have had a problem, but the point still stood.

* * *

Michael had been riding towards Gabriel's aura gleefully when it disappeared and he, completely shocked, wiped out.

He didn't seem to notice the injuries he sustained, as his concentration was so broken that his miracled motorbike disappeared and the Bentley stopped moving on command. "Gabe?" he exclaimed in complete shock, wings bursting from his back. He took to the air.

He knew where Gabriel had been at least even if he couldn't sense him anymore. When Michael finally saw Gabriel – lying there bleeding – he felt a very strong pang of dread that he quelled almost instantly. Panicking would not help Gabriel from whatever the crap had happened to him!

Michael landed next to him, eyes going wide, pulling Gabriel's nearly-dead form in his arms. "Can you hear me?" he asked hurriedly, worriedly.

Gabriel's response was an eyebrow twitch.

Michael undid a few of the buttons of his long-coat, reached inside it and ripped off the simple tee-shirt he had on underneath it. He started trying his best to stave off the blood flow of Gabriel's wounds, pressing the once-white shirt directly onto the bullet hole closest to Gabriel's heart.

Far more effective, considering the nature of the being hurt and the being comforting, Michael began talking soothingly. Specifically, he reasoned that pissing Gabriel off would probably keep him focused, alive, or _something_ , just long enough so Michael could try to get help…

He would _not_ panic. He was Saint Michael the Archangel; he did not panic. He made other things panic.

"Gabriel, you listen to me and you listen good," he murmured, trying his best to give Gabriel energy, or heal him, or something, even if his rather weak healing powers wouldn't work, "I stole all of your secret stash of chocolate. I tell everyone how good in bed you think I am – that's right, I've told everyone we're sleeping together. I'm the one who told everyone who gives you memos that you love Netspeak. I mess up 'good' and 'well' on purpose to make you angry. You'd better believe I'm the one who steals your pencils. And I totally was planning on cutting your hair in your sleep the next time we saw each other. You have to admit it makes you look incredibly girly. And considering that the rest of you does that too, you'd think you'd get the hint and cut it yourself, but noooo."

Gabriel's wings twitched.

Encouraged by some form of response, Michael continued, "I actually have a list of obnoxious nicknames for you - up to and including Puff Angel, Two Cent ('cause you butt in on everything!) and _High School Musical_ ('cause you know the main character is Gabriella!) And you remember a few weeks back when someone switched your stationary so it was all bunny-related? Yeah, that wasn't Uriel, that was aallll meeee."

If Michael could've known the thoughts going through Gabriel's head, he would have been very, very happy that Gabriel was near death.

"And, and, um, oh, I bought you some sexy lingerie the other day – yep, including a bra – just for kicks. And I have on more than one occasion taken some of your Messages down myself, pretending to be you, and made sure to speak backwards." He let out a high-pitched nervous laugh; either Gabriel was going to die here in his arms, or Gabriel was going to survive and kill him. "So if you wanna punish me for being an idiot who gets a perverse pleasure out of pissing you off, you'd better not die." Yeah, he'd much rather have Gabriel kill him.

Gabriel managed to get his eyes open enough to glare before closing them again. He clearly wanted to punish Michael for being an idiot of the aforementioned persuasion, which Michael counted as a victory.

"I dunno, it's scary when you're angry, but it's also comforting, 'cause you've _always_ been like that. And you always will be, and that's what's fun. Because you're boringer than boring is boring, but somehow not. It's weird. And I like it. … … …" He paused. "Love it, actually." Michael let out a nervous laugh. "So yeah."

Gabriel's eyebrow shot up.

Michael grinned as an idea came to him. "Oh, why don't I comfort you and assure you of my love in song!" He cleared his throat and began singing in a voice that would be good if he was human but was plain awful since he wasn't: _"It feels so right, so warm and true, I need to know if you feel it too; maybe I'm wrong, won't you tell me if I'm coming on too strong? This heart of mine has been hurt before, this time I wanna be sure!"_

Vaguely, Gabriel wished he would just go ahead and die already.

_"I've been waiting for a girl like you, to come into my life! I've been waiting for a girl like you, your loving will survive! I've been waiting for someone new, to make me feel alive! Yeah, waiting for a girl like you, to come into my life!"_

Gabriel groaned loudly in agony throughout the entire song, which of course Michael sang the entirety of, including his own backup and with the occasional burst of head-banging. He was being very careful to not jostle Gabriel's body.

"Awwwww, I'm not _just_ pestering you!" he protested Gabriel's pained expression, "I'm giving you a reason to live! You hear that? You can't smite my beautiful bum unless you live. And you'd better live, 'cause I... well, I can't live without you, you prissy bastard."

Gabriel didn't respond to that.

Michael continued, "And the song's pretty accurate. Heeheeheehee, I crack myself up. I am so funny!"

Gabriel most assuredly had a response to _that_. It involved a weak movement of the middle finger on his right hand.

Michael gave another nervous laugh. "Oookay. Anyhow, so these are all demonic bullets, right, which means the same thing with Zizi – have to heal you with a demon. So, I just need to find you a demon who is easy to intimidate so he'll actually do it. But… Um… Who do I know who I could bully into doing what I want to?"

" _Oh sweet Someone mercy! Mercy!_ " Dagon cried, hands up in the universal gesture of surrender.

Michael blinked at the newly-arrived demon. So did Gabriel, which was shocking. "Where did you come from, and what are you doing? I haven't even threatened you yet."

"I was just saving you a trip," Dagon wibbled. "I heard you talking about demons and healing and I said to myself that I could do it and make sure you don't kill me and-"

"Actually I was thinking of going to find Samael for old time's sake, but you'll work too," Michael said, still completely perplexed and not afraid to show it.

"Ooo thank you Sir Michael sir please don't kill me just yet!" Dagon gushed, moving forward to heal the injured Gabriel.

"Sure," said Michael.


	14. Chapter Twelve

Three cursed bullets landed on the ground with three soft "pings."

Gabriel stood up and brushed himself off, miracling his robes pristine. Any sort of paleness he now displayed was clearly the imagination of whoever was looking at him, and both Michael and Dagon knew better than to bring it up.

Before he did anything else, of course, he quickly lifted one knee and thrust it into Michael's groin. He had never used a crotch-attack before because in Heaven it wouldn't have worked (both due to a certain lack of the necessary external organs and the fact that Michael always wore armor), and so he was quite pleased when Michael let out a very interesting noise and crumpled to the floor, clutching the area.

"Never go near my desk again," he said simply, watching Michael writhe with a glint in his eyes.

"Yes sir," Michael choked out.*

"Consider it fair warning that once you are no longer useful to the operation at hand, should again you dare act out in such a manner as you had indicated to me, your life is forfeit. Now then, regarding said operation, from all appearances a few of our people came down here for some reason and were attacked," Gabriel continued tersely, willing his ears to not turn red. After all, now he was remembering the slightly more sentimental aspects of Michael's speech, and that oaf had actually said… things… and as such it was simply logical that Gabriel be… horrified.

Of course. Horrified.

"It is thus a very simple conclusion to arrive to that this factory is something we ought to concern ourselves with," he finished confidently as Michael forced himself to his feet. "Hence why I'm spelling it out, as I doubt you two could come to that conclusion on your own."

"You're right," Dagon gushed worriedly.

Michael put one hand on his hip thoughtfully and one hand over his crotch protectively as he looked over the building in question. If he was upset that Gabriel wasn't asking for more information regarding that l-word that was not used in the context of the Lord's Love, he wasn't showing it. "You know, now that we're here and no one's dying, I can tell that this place feels really creepy. And wasn't it said that humans were mass-producing angel and demon-killing weapons? Maybe that's being done here. So we should take it out, because that's sort of what we do."

"It was one of the tasks that we agreed we ought to do during the conference," Gabriel agreed. "As we are here, it would be in our best interests to deal with this problem ourselves, rather than continue to lose lesser angels while planning a new operation."

"Yes, I agree," said Dagon, who didn't really agree because he wanted to go home, but was too afraid to point that out.

"Let's go," Michael said with a shrug, walking up to the factory entrance and opening the door.

Gabriel sighed and followed him. "So, I have just spent an excessive amount of time with Aziraphael's spouse, and he makes you look like a shining beacon of light," Gabriel admitted ruefully. "While we did earn Aziraphael the healing he requires, I may never recover from the strain. Do I dare ask what you have been doing so far away from Raphael and Uriel?"

"I got into a fist fight with a dragon," Michael said. "Not just any dragon; a rare black dragon. It breathed acid and fire and lava. It retreated in the face of my awesome wrath."

Gabriel sighed, not believing him for a second but too tired to press him. "I see. And this required slave's car because…?"

"… Because…" muttered Michael awkwardly, "because it did."

"As much as I loathe him, it is his car and stealing is still considered wrong. Return it to him."

"But it was for a Holy Mission!" he whined piteously.

"Michael."

"Gaaaabrieeeeel!"

" _Michael."_

Michael pouted and snapped his fingers. "Fiiiiiiine!"

* * *

* Michael made a mental note: Crotch shots? Horribly unfair, and _incredibly painful_.

* * *

Crowley had recovered himself and begun looking around again when _the Bentley appeared right in front of him. In pristine condition._

He let out an extremely excited high-pitched squeal as he ran over and latched on to his precious car, nuzzling it and trying to ignore the odd sense of disappointment he could sense coming from it.

_"I guess it's just a silly song about you… and how I lost you…"_

* * *

"So let's go on and get this over with," Michael grumbled, sliding inside with his sword drawn. "Oh, hey, this looks like a factory would on the TV! You know, with machines and conveyer belts and stuff!"

Gabriel groaned. He had often tried dissuading Michael from watching television, but it never worked. Michael was the most stubborn being in Creation, after all.

"On the what? What's a 'teevee'?" Dagon asked, following with them.

"You're still here?" Michael asked him back.

Dagon blushed. "Well I wouldn't want you to get angry I abandoned you; you might smite me then," he admitted. "Although, of course, I'm also here because I'm evil and demonic and-"

"And anyway," Michael continued authoritatively, "the best way to shut down one of these places is to find the control room and hit lots of buttons. Even better if there's a big red button that says 'DO NOT HIT.' You're really supposed to hit that."

Gabriel took a deep breath to regain his composure. "Yes," he said darkly. "Of course that is exactly how it works. In real life. Which is exactly how it is on the television. That you oughtn't have been watching. _Because you are an angel. And you should have been practicing singing."_

Michael gave him a very apologetic smile. "Sorry, I thought television was kind of awesome. Except for all of those shows about housecleaning. Or those shows about clothes shopping. And I didn't need practice singing! My voice is sexy."

Gabriel rolled his eyes, refusing to blush at the word 'sexy.' He would sooner kill Michael than ever again admit that the warrior angel was attractive. "Come," he said sternly, walking away from his two comrades down an industrialized hallway with no windows and dirty floors. As his tone left no room for objection, Michael and Dagon followed him dutifully.

"We are going to walk through this maze and slay any humans we come across," Gabriel informed them as they trailed behind him, although he personally was planning on merely miracling them out of the way. He wanted to sound as ruthless as possible both to keep reminding Dagon who was in charge and to hopefully make Michael listen. "We are going to locate the machinery that permits the humans to bless and curse their weapons and remove it so that they may desist in doing so. Judging from the size of this particular facility, this is a major hub of weapon mobilization."

"Are you okay now?" Michael asked nervously.

Gabriel gave Michael the highest raised eyebrow the latter had ever seen, much less received. He vaguely wondered if it had its own gravitational pull. "Excuse me?"

Michael was very good at ignoring his _dangerdangerdanger_ sense, but even so he kept his eyes lowered as he said, "Well, you did get really hurt… I mean, I really thought… or at least was afraid that…"

Gabriel's infamous eyebrow did not lower. "Is this where you say that anyone who isn't you would have passed out from blood loss?"

"Nooooo…"

"Oh, perhaps that it would have taken being shot _six_ times to fell you, as opposed to the three I received?"

"Nooooooooooooo…"

"Well, then what? Out with it."

Michael awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "There wasn't a punch line, honest. I just don't want you overexerting yourself right now, that's all."

Gabriel gave a dignified snort. Michael was impressed that a snort could ever be considered dignified, but there it was.

"Really!" he insisted, "I mean, you're so dainty, and you're not like, you know, the Warrior of Heaven. You're the Messenger, the keyboardist. I worry about you."

Gabriel blinked. "I see. Even when we were on tour, then? I suppose you ought to have been worried about me then, considering my constant exposure to your singing voice."

"Aw c'mon. I… I always imagined I was singing to you," Michael admitted bashfully, rubbing the back of his head some more and awkwardly staring at the floor.

 _Awww_ , thought Gabriel. He blinked at Michael before it dawned on him what was wrong with that. "All of our songs address a _woman_ , Michael." Had he been anyone else, that sentence would have ended with an exclamation mark.

Michael wisely burst into a sprint, running down the hallway and turning.

"Don't you dare laugh," said Gabriel to Dagon.

"Far too afraid to," the demon admitted.

* * *

I CALL THIS STAFF MEETING TO ORDER, said Death, skeletal hands folded on the table. WELCOME FOUR HORSEPERSONS OF THE APOCALYPSE, AND GUEST.

"It's so good to be back," Pestilence purred.

"It's so good to have never left," said Pollution snidely, although he was secretly worrying as to whether or not he was 'guest.'

War and Famine gave long-suffering sighs.

"He's young," Famine told Pestilence apologetically.

"Not _that_ young," Pollution protested heatedly.

Pestilence smiled, adjusting his lab-coat. "It's quite all right. We're all here for the same goal." Of course to Pestilence that goal was 'world domination,' but he had decided that the others were for this plan as well, whether they knew it or not.

FIRST ORDER OF BUSINESS, said Death, ANY POINTS LEFT OVER FROM OUR LAST MEETING. DID ANYONE THINK OF ANYTHING?

War raised her hand. "I did. Why do we have weekly meetings? Can't we switch to monthly, or yearly?"

BECAUSE WE DON'T KNOW WHEN THE WORLD IS GOING TO END, Death said sternly. AND BECAUSE… I GET LONELY ON THE WEEKENDS.

"But our meetings are on Mondays," Famine pointed out.

I TAKE OUT THE PAIN OF MY LONELINESS ON YOU. THAT'S NOT THE POINT. THE POINT IS THAT THE END OF THE WORLD IS FINALLY COMING AND I FEEL THAT WE'RE BEHIND. HUMANS SHOULDN'T BE FIGHTING BACK SO HARDCORE. BESIDES, WE'RE BEING OVERLOOKED BECAUSE OF A BUNCH OF LOONY ANGELS AND DEMONS. DOES ANYONE HAVE ANY SUGGESTIONS FOR HOW TO DEAL WITH THIS PROBLEM?

His four comrades looked at each other.

"Um," War said awkwardly, "This really is a problem. I've heard stories of a redheaded devil woman killing everyone. I don't appreciate being called a devil, because I'm not."

"That's what you get for being so hands-on," Famine pointed out. "If you had just done your old gig, with the influencing instead, then you wouldn't have this problem."

"At least I'm doing something!" she snapped back.

Famine sighed. "You know your powers have no effect on me."

She pouted.

POLLUTION, STOP GIVING DEATH GLARES TO PESTILENCE; THAT'S MY SHTICK. IF YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY, THEN SAY IT.

Pollution considered airing out his jealously-fueled feelings, but that would be against his code of ethics. He instead smugly proclaimed, "Humans are making nasty monsters too."

Pestilence scratched himself in confusion. "I'm not making monsters."

"Zombies are considered monsters," War informed him. "You know, like vampires and hippies."

This made the mad scientist scowl. "So they're copying off me?"

"Not only that," Pollution continued, "but they're making them so they can kill angels and demons. Can your clean freaks do that?" *

Pestilence stood up and walked out of the room. Another mass outbreak of the Ebola virus spread to all parts of the world.

Pollution snickered. Famine, War and Death all sighed.

* * *

* To Pollution, "clean freak" is the direst insult imaginable short of "flash bastard," as Crowley uses no petrol and is immaculately clean at all times.

* * *

Michael, Gabriel and Dagon strolled through the factory. Dagon wanted to complain that he hadn't killed any factory workers yet, but the fact that he had yet to see a single human made him suspicious that maybe one of his nobler companions was miracling them to safety. He also wanted to point out that such an action was counter-productive considering their ultimate goal was the destruction of the human race, but considering that Dagon was terrified of both of his comrades, he kept his mouth shut.

Gabriel, however, did not keep his mouth shut.

"I see. So you were given a task to smite someone, and you failed miserably," Gabriel translated.

Michael gasped indignantly. "That is so not true! And anyway I wonder how well _you_ would have done against the massive dragon-basilisk hybrid evil thing. Did I mention its very presence turns people to stone, and that only someone with sufficient fortitude and smiting prowess can withstand such a fearsome gaze?"

Gabriel gave a long-suffering sigh. "No, you did not mention that before."

"Am I still better than A. Crow?"

"Surprisingly, yes."

"You know, after so long, I don't know whether I'm proud or ashamed that I've gotten beaten at being annoying to you."

The very edge of Gabriel's lips twitched. "Your only redeeming quality is that you are not as… snarky as that one. Other than that, you are both terrible for my mental health."

Michael grinned. "If you want me to smite him…" Not that Michael had anything against Crowley, but had found it very worth it over the years to keep Gabriel something approaching happy.

"Oh, if only we could. Raphael would destroy us both for breaking his baby's heart. Although how Aziraphael came to have fondness for that thing is something that I might never comprehend, nor wish to."

The larger angel nodded grimly before his eyes widened drastically. He was staring out through a large thick pane of display glass. Gabriel's eyebrows furrowed as he followed Michael's gaze; on the other side of the glass was a conveyor belt dropping assorted weapons and ammunition into a large vat of water.

"Well, that's nonsensical," said Dagon. "All of those weapons, ruined!"

"Um, I don't think they're ruining them," Michael murmured, "I think that's holy water."

"They're blessing their weapons en masse," Gabriel said, and from the look on his face, he did not seem happy about it. Although sometimes with Gabriel it was hard to tell. "I suppose it is easier than having a priest bless each and every one individually."

"That's so… lazy," Dagon said. At the looks given to him by his two companions, he continued, "Well, as a demon, I approve of laziness. Given that I am an evil, powerful demon."

Michael looked at Gabriel, deliberately ignoring Dagon. "So there's probably a place where they're cursing other weapons much faster than we thought."

Gabriel frowned as he squinted, looking through the glass. "Yes. Rather than dealing with one of these problems, we ought to destroy the entire facility. According to your television programmes, such a task can be accomplished in one place, correct?"

Michael nodded enthusiastically.

"All right, then." Gabriel sighed. "Shall we continue on?"

"In the hopes of becoming _America's Next Top Model_?" Michael supplied.

Gabriel blinked at him.

"Er," said Dagon awkwardly.

"Sorry. That's one of my favorites," Michael admitted sheepishly, not making eye-contact.

Gabriel merely turned and walked away, at a complete loss for words describing Michael's stupidity other than a muttered, _"Michael._ " Michael considered it a victory and followed him, feeling renewed. Dagon started actively wishing he could go home.

* * *

Crowley considered himself an optimist, but frankly he didn't trust his angel to fate, considering how it had tended to screw him over in the past. There was nothing quite like walking into your secret love's burning home only to find he wasn't there, except maybe watching him explode.

So as he sauntered down a busy road searching for his angel, he cut to the chase and contacted him from a distance; mentally draining, but instantly rewarding.

_Oy angel!_

There was a start on the other end of this bond. _Crowley? CROWLEY! It's you! You're all right! You're alive!_

_I could say the same thing about you, Aziraphale. Last time I saw you, you were in your death-bed because you haven't got any self-preservation instincts._

Crowley smiled at the responsive huff. _Really my dear,_ Aziraphale replied, sounding quite offended, _I haven't got any self-preservation instincts because I'm immortal._

He rolled his eyes and just knew that somehow his angel saw that. _So who ended up saving you?_ Actually, although he would never admit it out loud, he was a bit disappointed that Aziraphale hadn't been saved as a result of his traipsing through Hell*.

_Actually, it was an old… friend of my father's, a one Azazel._

Crowley stopped walking with that admission. _Really? Is he still with you?_

_Why, yes. He's been a bright ray of sunshine; a rainbow on a rainy day. An upstanding young chap._

_I know your father well enough by now to know he doesn't think he's in any danger, but you, you I trust to actually keep an eye on him. He's Evil, and I mean that very seriously. He will betray you if he gets a chance, and he especially hates Raphael._

_Somehow_ , replied Aziraphale in a sardonic drawl, _I got that impression. It was hard. He's an excellent actor._

Crowley snickered as he started walking again. _Oh, and stay away from Belial, too. He acts harmless but that's just a ruse. He's just as conniving and evil as the rest of them._

_I'm sure you're being paranoid._

That did not fill Crowley with confidence. _Angel._

 _He's perfectly harmless, and anyway he's…_ (Was it Crowley imagination or did Aziraphale sound disappointed?) … _rather interested in Uriel, it seems._

_You stay away from him, too. He's crazy._

_Crowley!_

_Hey now, I didn't make him crazy, so don't go using that accusing tone with me. He just is. The only one of that lot I trust you with is your father and even then he's extremely gullible so "trust" is very loosely used! I swear to anyone who's listening that if the next time I see you you're dying again, I'll just kill us both and save me the trouble of having to go back to Hell!_

There was a choking sound.

 _Don't you dare say "aww!"_ Crowley snapped.

Aziraphale laughed. _All right all right. Take care of yourself, will you, dear? Just because I've had the worse luck so far doesn't make you safe._

_I'm coming to find you anyway, so then we can make sure neither of us die._

_Oh. How nice. I suppose I'll see you in a jiffy, then._

Crowley sighed inwardly. _No, angel, you'll see me soon, or possibly within the week. There is no such thing as a "jiffy."_

_Oh hush, you snake._

_That's Serpent._

_Yes, yes. I love you._

He still wasn't very good at this part, but in private conversations he could at least say it quietly. _I love you too._

* * *

* Not that Crowley knew that if Samael hadn't given them the wild-goose chase quest, Azazel would have never healed Aziraphale anyway, so in a way Crowley _did_ save Aziraphale's life. He was just hoping for something more dramatic. He should really know better by now.

* * *

Finally, with enough walking, Michael, Gabriel and Dagon came upon the control center of this vast factory.

"Oh, _shit_ ," said the slightly mousy middle-aged man whose badge indicated he ran the factory. He started looking around for an exit, but before he got to one Gabriel flicked a finger and the man stopped walking. He turned around and smiled at them, and Michael realized that Gabriel had put him under a spell.

"Excuse me," said Gabriel curtly, "We require information and you are going to be giving it to us."

"Oh, hello there," said the man, now quite cheerfully, "I recognize two of you! My name's Newton Pulsifer; Newt for short. We met at 'Adam Young's Hooray We Saved the World' party years back. I was there."

Michael and Gabriel looked at him before looking at each other. They both shrugged. Dagon, who hadn't been invited to the aforementioned party, pouted.

"That's great," said Michael warily.

"Why, thank you!" Newt said confidently. Of course, without the spell, he wouldn't have been confident even if he hadn't known that he was manufacturing weapons specifically designed to kill his interrogators. "I had been promoted by the head of Manifest Destiny to the head of this factory after it was discovered that prior experience made me excellent at planning things. Also, considering the nature of the operation, I had sufficient will to lead a place that was goaled towards protecting us from angels and demons, although of course I mean no offence." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet. "Why, would I show you pictures of my family if I meant to offend? This is my wife, Anathema, whom you may remember." He showed the two angels and the demon this picture of his wife; she was smiling beautifully and holding a book. "She became an author after everyone knew of the Apocalypses. She's very popular, and all of the stories she writes are based on real events that have happened throughout our lives!"

"How nice," Gabriel said, looking confused, as this had nothing to do with the information he actually wanted.

"This is a picture of my son, Bentley," he continued, flipping the plastic picture-holder and revealing a picture of a mildly handsome yet otherwise nondescript young man. "Bentley attended a local university and has since become a tabloid journalist. We're all very proud of him for making something of his life. And this is his twin sister, Aziraphale." He flipped it and showed his captive audience the last picture in his wallet of a lovely young woman who had grown up to take after her confident mother. "She also attended university and went into a life of politics! Ironically, it seems that Bentley often writes salacious rumors about his very own sister!"

"Um," said Michael nervously, "It's great you like your family and everything, but, ah, but we need to shut this place down. We were going to press a lot of buttons and hoped that worked."

"I don't think so," said Newt. "That's not how you shut down a factory at all. Now, you may be thinking, 'wait a minute, isn't this Newt fellow the one who was pretty much cursed so that every time he touched something remotely electrical, it died?' Yes, that _was_ me, but as you see, the man before you is not defined by that character trait. People grow up, you know. They change."

Gabriel eyebrow twitched. "Can you shut down the factory another way then, or shall we have to resort to violence?"

"I don't like violence," Newt said. "I was a Witchfinder for quite a long period, you know, and in all that time I never killed a witch. Make love, not war, I say. Especially since that's exactly what I did with the one witch I ever met, who is my wife."

"There's a big shiny red button that says 'do not push,'" Michael whined, looking to the control panel which did, in fact, have said button.

Newt smiled. "That button does nothing. I had it installed so that it would do nothing upon being pressed, just in case someone broke in here. As you just demonstrated, were someone to come in here, their first inclination would be to press the big 'do not push' button, which would, in fact, do nothing. In fact, I installed it myself!"

Dagon reached over and pressed the button.

* * *

"It cannot take _three weeks_ for me to get a new corporation!" Michael frowned as he tapped his short-cut fingernails on the secretary's desk.

Betty, the Secretary of the Human Relations and Integrations Department, didn't look up. "You checked rush order delivery," she replied in monotone, "which costs $3.22 extra but speeds the process up a week. Your list of achievements with that corporation justified a two-day speedup of construction."

"I'm on a schedule! The world is going to be destroyed and I have to make sure it all happens!" he whined.

"No exceptions," said Betty, still not looking up.

Scowling mightily, he reached into his robes and whipped out his ID card. He pushed it under Betty's nose.

She finally looked up. _"Miiiiichaeeeeeeeel! Eeeeeeeeeee Sir Michael give it thirteen seconds!_ "

Michael gave her a winning grin. Gabriel rolled his eyes.

They had both been discorporated when the factory exploded. There were no hard feelings; both Michael and Gabriel would have felt better knowing that somehow Newt had gotten out unscathed. Newt wasn't quite sure how this was possible, but it was likely a mechanical malfunction and thus he himself felt a little bit let down by it before dutifully picking himself up and going off to find his wife.

"Gabriel sir," Betty squealed, noticing him too, "would you like your new corporation order sped up as well? Anything for one of the Seven!"

"No thank you. I believe I am going to stay Up Here," said Gabriel, rubbing his temples. "After all, someone has to tell Metatron what has transpired, so that he may keep everyone informed. After that I shall take a hot bubble bath lest my brain explode from all the rage I've had to internalize."

Michael then remembered his own Metatron-relayed task and his brand-new corporation blushed. "Yeah. I need to get going anyway. It was, uh, good seeing you, Gabriel. And um, yay for you not dying! Woo!"

The two stared at each other. Michael was blushing horribly, but only the most observant people would notice the very tip of Gabriel's ears turn pink. "Yes," said Gabriel.

"So… um…"

"Go away, Michael."

"Bye," squeaked Michael as he descended.

Gabriel sighed and walked back to the Archangel nest for his paperwork and a long-overdue bath.

* * *

Pestilence gawked at the sight of an enormous mutated crocodile that slid back into the pond after eating one of his zombies.

"What is this?" he shrieked. "This is unnatural! This is, this is monstrous! This! Is! _PLAGIARISM!_ "

"You said it, Daddy," said one of his zombies.

"How dare they copy off my incredibly unique and ingenious idea!" he screamed in rage, "This means war!"

"Finally," War muttered, standing next to him.

"I shall – oh, hello darling."

"Hi Big P," she said with a smile, pinching his cheek. "Are you going to wage an unholy bloodbath on the humans who took your idea?"

"Oh. Yes."

"Sweet.'


	15. Chapter Thirteen

The Emperor of Hell had been on Earth for quite some time now, and no one had died by his hands yet. Truthfully he would have liked to kill people – it was sort of his thing – but being told he _ought_ to took a lot of fun out of the whole venture, not to mention that he was saving up his energy to find Michael. None of the humans who walked by him seemed to notice anything off about him, except that he was quite possibly the handsomest man they'd ever seen, and that he was distracted by something.

He was, in fact, distracted by talking to himself; he was very fond of himself, and that included his voice. "If I were an asshole, where would I be hiding?" he asked, striding down a street while monologue-ing like a professional villain (which of course he was), "Oh Michael Michael Michael, running from me, are you? Wise on your part, of course, but it's only delaying the inevitable. I'll find you, no matter where you run, no matter where you hide… It's only a matter of time."

_THE TIME COULD BE VERY SHORT IN DURATION, IF YOU PREFER._

Satan stopped walking, one perfect pale eyebrow arching. "Oh, really?"

_WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW WHERE MICHAEL IS GOING?_

"And you're going to tell me?" He chuckled. "I think that's considered to be a bit _unethical._ "

_THERE IS NO DANGER. MICHAEL HAS LEFT GABRIEL'S SIDE AND IS CURRENTLY HUNTING DOWN THE DEMONSBANE. YOU CAN FIND HIM IN GERMANY, IN BERLIN._

"And how do I know this isn't a trap?" he asked, bemused. Not only was this great news, but it was coming from the most delicious of sources.

_YOU DO NOT. BUT NOTHING WILL BE GAINED BY YOUR DEMISE, AND EVERYTHING WITH YOUR COOPERATION. GABRIEL IS CURRENTLY SAFE, BUT MICHAEL'S OTHER BROTHERS SHALL BE TAKEN OUT AT THE SAME TIME. THE MESSENGER IS HELPLESS ON HIS OWN._

"Ooo, so devious," Satan purred, "I approve."

_YOUR APPROVAL IS IRRELEVENT.  IT IS SUGGESTED THAT YOU MOVE QUICKLY, LEST HE BE GONE WHEN YOU GET THERE._

A minute later, the entire street that Satan was walking down burst into flames, the rest of the city following soon after. Yes yes, he had said he wasn't going to do it, but he couldn't resist! He had to celebrate _somehow_!

The only one to escape the hellfire blaze rode out of it on a miracled motorbike, grinning with anticipation and humming along with the radio. _"Motorin', what's your price for flight, you've got him in your sight…"_

* * *

Elsewhere, Michael sneezed. He was also quite perplexed as to why he suddenly had Night Ranger stuck in his head.

* * *

Raphael and Belial had gone outside, seeming to know that Uriel would return soon enough, though not knowing exactly where he'd disappeared to (to help Michael). Puzzled, Aziraphale and Azazel followed. They had only gone through the doorway when Uriel had disappeared, so they didn't have to backtrack very far.

Eventually Azazel grew impatient with waiting for Uriel to come back. "The crazy one's been gone for ten minutes," he sneered, "Let's just leave him behind. We can let him figure out how to either be useful here by himself, or get eaten."

"Oh, do be quiet," Aziraphale snapped. He had been doing very well so far considering his conversation with Crowley had put him in good spirits, but he was reaching the end of his temper when it came to the bitter demon. "Honestly. No one cares about your opinions. We understand that you're irredeemably evil, so please quit pointing it out."

Azazel hissed at him, but it was overwhelmed by a very loud whistling sound.

"Does anyone hear that?" Belial asked, raising an eyebrow and looking at the sky.

"I wonder what that is," Raphael murmured, biting his lower lip thoughtfully.

Aziraphale also looked up. "It sounds like, like something falling, like in one of those cartoons on the telly." There were many things that Crowley hadn't managed to convert Aziraphale to in the years they'd lived together, but American cartoons was one thing he had been successful at.

"And it's getting louder," Raphael observed.

All four took a step backwards.

Uriel thunked down upon on the ground not far away, landing awkwardly on his bum before striking his head on a poorly-placed rock. He immediately started crying. Raphael tutted and strode over, kneeling down and helping him stand up, dusting his robes off and healing his tushy. "You do have wings, you know," he said severely.

"I do?" Uriel asked in awe. He looked over his shoulder and his eyes widened marginally. "Well, would you look at that," he murmured in surprise, and his wings flexed in response.

"Shall we be going in again now?" Aziraphale asked, gesturing to the mansion with his thumb. "We are here for a purpose, if you recall."

Uriel took the time to glance away from his wings to return his gaze to the mansion of evil, at which point he squealed in terror and hid behind Raphael. "I don't want to go in there! We only went in through the doors before and it was scary! There's all sorts of nasty evil angel-eating things! I'll be kidnapped and experimented on!"

"You'll be just fine, dear," said Raphael fondly, walking inside the manor, prompting Uriel to walk pressed up against his back. Aziraphale, Azazel and Belial followed them in.

Belial could barely hide a grin. A haunted house and a terrified, therefore seduceable, angel! If only he celebrated Christmas, or had a birthday, then he could feel like this was a great present. Instead he calmly cleared his throat and suggested to his companions that they would be best off dividing up, with a demon and an angel in each group. He didn't want to outright suggest he go with Uriel, and in fact wouldn't be terribly surprised if Aziraphale suggested he go with _him,_ but if he knew Azazel then –

"I think my group will be me and Raphael," the Archdemon said with a leer, looking over Raphael like a buff prisoner looks at their new inmate. "Why, we can bond and reminisce about old times."

"Oh, that sounds simply lovely," said Raphael meekly.

"And I shall be going with you," Aziraphale said coldly, moving closer to Raphael defensively. Raphael gave a weak smile, happy to have Aziraphale's support but still rather chagrined at Azazel's hatred of him, and wrapped his arm around Aziraphale's waist. Belial felt the thrill of victory.

"Oh dear," Uriel murmured, "does that mean I'm all by myself? I don't like that idea. It's scary here."

"Don't worry Uriel, I'll be here to protect you," Belial said suavely.

"Who are you?"

"… … …" There went the thrill. Really, he should have expected that.

"Ohhh, right, now I remember. Well okay, I guess you and I can hang out." Uriel shrugged, and Belial sighed.

"If you think it best we split up then I'll not protest," Raphael said, "but please be careful, all right, especially you, Uriel. And do try to stay on task, Belial."

"I'm certain I have no idea what you're implying," said Belial as sincerely as he could. If course he knew that Raphael didn't buy it, but really didn't care so long as he still got to be alone with a frightened Uriel. Raphael only had to _pretend_ to buy it.

After the other three beings left, Uriel jumped on Belial's back, wrapping his arms around the demon's neck. "I just _love_ piggy-back rides," he gushed.

Belial gave a long-suffering sigh, decided to take what he could get, hooked his elbows underneath Uriel's knees, and started walking.

* * *

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes, dear, I'm fine."

Azazel wanted to rip the eardrums out of his human corporation. The two angels he was trailing were walking hand-in-hand, pressed together, and kept asking after the other's health like two fussing mother hens. It had gotten to the point where he could predict their lines of questioning almost down to the words used.

"Are you _sure?_ " Aziraphale pressed, "You used an awful lot of energy on my account and you have always been terrible at knowing your own limits."

"I'm fine, Zizi, really," Raphael said fondly, and Azazel was able to mouth them along with him. "Why, if I hadn't done what I did, we would have been separated forever and _that_ , my dearest, would have made me very unwell. Besides, my sweet cherubling, I do indeed know my own limits."

Azazel rolled his eyes at the blatant falsehood.

"You say that, but _I_ was the one who found you utterly exhausted and ill yourself during the Black Death. _Four times."_

Raphael did not have the grace to look embarrassed.

"And really, my dearest father, setting fire to London was quite the act of desperation…"

Raphael smiled and covered his son's mouth with a hand. "Hush, you," he said fondly. "If you recall, you were the one who didn't think to tell me that you were dying. You are the only angel in Heaven who won't tell the Healer when you're ill. Sometimes I wonder if I didn't do you a disservice by adopting you."

"Michael doesn't tell you either," Aziraphale pointed out.

"Touché," Raphael said sadly. "However, he also still lives with me, so I at least see him often enough to _know_ when he picks fights with creatures six times his size and comes back in multiple pieces. You, however, I have to guess about."

Azazel could hear something shuffling up ahead, but didn't bother informing his companions of it. With any luck he would be able to backstab them during or shortly after some sort of attack, and that would make this entire trip worth it so long as he didn't think about what sort of punishment would be inflicted upon him for breaking the treaty; in fact, Lord Satan would have to be _very_ creative if he wanted to make Azazel regret his treachery. Otherwise, he'd consider the pain worth it.

While he could appreciate the logic behind his thinking at the time, Azazel was really starting to regret having saved the younger angel, and not just because of the joy it brought to Raphael's heart, but also because _Aziraphale and Raphael were exactly the same._

All right, they were close. Aziraphale was like Raphael Lite, or maybe Raphael was Aziraphale Concentrate. Regardless, it was creepy. And infuriating. Especially infuriating. Every time they spoke it felt like nails on a chalkboard to him.

In fact, they both heard the aforementioned shuffling sound at the same time and each moved in front of the other, which in the end left them standing side by side; Azazel noted sourly that meant they might as well have stood still. Like everything about the two of them, this bugged him. If he hadn't already been plotting their deaths, then he'd certainly be doing it _now._

The creature that came around the corner shuffling along made Raphael look sick to his stomach and made Aziraphale summon a flaming sword (not the one that War had adopted, considering he had decided to let her keep it, for old time's sake). Azazel on the other hand looked at it like someone looks at a really ugly dog. "Is that even a thing?" he asked, perplexed. In fact, it looked like an enormous blob of goo with dark-colored feathers shoved in.

"It… feels a bit demonic…" Aziraphale murmured, shifting the grip on the hilt of his blade. "Like, like it was manufactured. _Ah_."

"Really, they could at least make their evil demonic monstrosities aesthetically pleasing," Raphael admitted, no longer looking intimidated. "Although I suppose they haven't had all that much time to work on them, and these are new, untested creations as opposed to something they would release on our armies. They do work quickly, of course, although I do feel awful that we're going to be destroying all their hard work before it really gets off the ground."

 _Shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP_ _ **SHUT UP**_ _!_ Azazel screamed in his head, desperately wishing he could do so aloud before killing them horribly.

"Stay back, Zizi, let me handle this," Raphael said fondly, and the little scalpel he carried around transformed into a large flaming sword*.

 _Don't you dare –_ Azazel began to think, trying to silently will Aziraphale into not arguing with him. Of course it failed and the younger angel launched into a protest. This finally made Azazel lose his temper, and as the two angels tag-teamed the evil goo, he let out a scream of pure unadulterated rage.

To destroy it, they cut the goo into tiny pieces before vaporizing it, working expertly as a team. Then they both turned and looked at Azazel with nearly identical expressions of confusion on their faces as they said in unison, "My my, I wonder what his problem is."**

Azazel gave them both a very rude gesture.

* * *

* This sword/scalpel is called Skalme, and it was given to Raphael as a gift from Michael after the end of the last Armageddon't. Although Raphael acted very grateful, and he was for the scalpel (considering his line of work), he's used the flaming sword aspect of it exactly once since then; this is that once.

** Actually, this was all in Azazel's mind. In fact, Raphael had looked concerned for Azazel's well-being, while Aziraphale had face-palmed. However, even if you had told Azazel this, he wouldn't have cared. In his estimation the two of them both deserved to suffer for the grievous sin of being like Raphael, who needed to die on his own merit. ***

*** Yes, Azazel has some issues.

* * *

"You know what, Mr. Belial? After this is all said and done I'm going to take you back home with me and force-feed you some yummy muffins with sprinkles."

Belial considered pointing out that Uriel clearly meant cupcakes, but refrained. He knew well enough by now to know it would fall on deaf ears. Uriel had once given him a lecture on how the only difference between muffins and cupcakes was that manly men made muffins while girls made cupcakes; while there was an obvious point to be made about what Uriel therefore made, it somehow went over Uriel's head.

"You're so skinny!" Uriel continued from his position on Belial's back. So far as they walked – rather, as _Belial_ walked – they had yet to run into anything suspicious. In fact, they had only seen one "icky demon thing – no, not you Belbel, although kinda sorta you – but that thing, the icky demon thing," but no… icky angel things. Belial thought that was weird, but assumed (and rightly so) that if he told Uriel, the angel wouldn't know what he was talking about. It was fairly clear Uriel wasn't paying attention.

_BELIAL, ARE YOU ABLE TO HEAR OVER THE SEVERER'S CONSTANT CHATTERING?_

Belial stopped walking for a moment, looking around for this new speaker before realizing he was hearing something in his mind coming from the most unlikely of sources. He started walking again, all while carefully listening to the voice in his head and trying to keep listening to the voice in his ear.

_Yes, I can hear you._

_GOOD. THERE IS A TASK FOR YOU; A VERY IMPORTANT TASK. ARE YOU LISTENING?_

"… really, I mean, Gabriel's pretty skinny too but you're all bones…"

_Yes, yes I am._

_YOUR EMPEROR IS CLOSING IN ON THE LOCATION OF THE EXPELLER. THE HEALER AND HIS WARD SHALL BE SOON INCAPACITATED. DESTROY THE SEVERER WHILE HE IS DISTRACTED AND SEPARATED, AND THE MESSENGER IS WORTHLESS WITHOUT HIS BROTHERS. THE FOUR WILL FALL TOGETHER._

"… and Michael always eats all of the muffins I make," Uriel finished, sounding depressed.

_KILL HIM._

Belial balked.

* * *

Azazel calmed down marginally and resisted the urge to make a spectacle of himself as he confidently strode down the hallway. He could tell that his two angelic companions were gossiping about him* and it infuriated him beyond comprehension. How _dare_ they speak in such a way about him! He was an Archdemon! He had spent those thousands of years in Hell amassing great power and wealth! He was far more cunning than the naïve fool who had strode about the Earth!

The Azazel then thought that giving jewelry and weapons to humans was particularly daring and evil. The Azazel now had fantasies of _torturing angels._

_NOW IS THE TIME, IF YOU TRULY WISH TO STRIKE._

Azazel stared up. _Is this a trick? A voice in my head telling me all I've ever wanted to hear?_

_THIS IS NO TRICK, AZAZEL. YOUR COMRADES ARE REMOVING THE OTHERS FROM THE EQUATION. YOU ARE HEREBY BEING CHARGED WITH DESTROYING THE HEALER AND HIS BRAT-CHILD._

Azazel smiled, showing all of his pointed teeth. He stopped walking, expressly for the purpose of fully embracing this evil smirk. Aziraphale and Raphael passed him without incident.

"… and so William actually was bisexual," Aziraphale finished.

"My goodness, how scandalous! Well, at least as far as humans are concerned. That sort of thing never bothered _me_ but there are a few angels who advocate stricter regulations…" Raphael commented as they strode side by side.

Azazel knew how he was going to kill them both; he had been plotting as such for thousands of years. The question was how to capture them.

He materialized a two-by-four in his hands and sauntered behind the unsuspecting duo.

* * *

* Actually, they weren't. They were discussing Raphael's discovered-500-years-too-late love of Shakespeare. But, as you've no doubt noticed, Azazel is paranoid, even compared to most demons.

* * *

Belial stared at Uriel, who had finally hopped off his back.

Uriel stared back.

The order echoed in his head. Belial _should_ be able to fulfill it easily. The Severer, the one who had disconnected him from Heaven, was standing here, completely vulnerable. His brothers were going to die soon. Belial was normally no match power-wise for Uriel, but here, in this moment, he could easily snap the angel's neck with a quick flick of his wrists.

"What's wrong, Belbel?" Uriel asked, his large eyes entreating.

All right, maybe killing him was harsh. Surely he would be fine if he just distracted him. Distraction was also good. If Uriel didn't interfere with the deaths of his brothers, then realistically no one could complain. If worse came to worse, which it usually did for someone who lived in Hell, he could always blame it on the sloth.

"Beeeelbeeeeel," Uriel sang softly, "Helloooo-oooooo…"

Or the lust.

Belial stepped forward and pressed Uriel against the wall.

* * *

Satan smirked sadistically as he rode into Berlin. He had left a sizable inferno of carnage behind him.

He could sense Michael was here, just as he had been told. Completely unsuspecting, all alone, and completely vulnerable.

It was a good day.

"Time to die, brother mine," he said softly, increasing his speed.

"… _be all right tonight…."_

* * *

Uriel looked confused as Belial pressed his lips against his. What on Earth was this crazy demon doing?

Oh dear, what was his _hand_ doing?

The demon's lips traveled from Uriel's down his chin, his neck, placing tender kisses; his hands were all over Uriel's body, gently stroking. Uriel himself was completely and utterly baffled. Was this something he should be worried about? Didn't they have something else they were supposed to be doing? Should he tell an adult he trusted? That's what Raphy always suggested he do.

Belial suddenly looked up as his hand went between Uriel's legs. The look Belial had on his face was a very dark one; one that Uriel recognized as often appearing on Gabriel's. It was a lot like Gabriel's "I cannot believe you sincerely mean that" face. It comforted Uriel to see something he understood.

"Really? Nothing?" Belial asked.

"Huh?" asked Uriel. "I like hugs as much as the next angel, but usually hugs aren't so… touchy."

Belial sighed, resting his forehead on Uriel's shoulder. "Never mind," he said softly. "Just… just never mind."

"You are so, so, _so_ weird," Uriel said fondly, starting to play with Belial's spiky red hair.

"Yeah, I know," Belial moaned.

* * *

Raphael had been peacefully unconscious until there was a loud noise, rather like it was attempting to be music. His head ached something fierce but he wasn't quite with it enough to realize how simply _odd_ it was that he was feeling _pain_. What had happened? He and Zizi and Azazel had gone into a room and –

His eyes shot open. He was facing a still-unconscious Zizi who had been tied to a pillar; trying to move his wrists made Raphael realize he was tied up as well. He glanced up at the straps binding him to the pillar and saw they were carefully etched with demonic symbols. And the music was an organ. Why was there an organ playing… and how…?

Raphael turned his head to the side and his eyebrows shot up. Azazel was now dressed in a nice-looking tuxedo and he was sitting and playing the organ in an ominous theme. He clearly seemed to be enjoying himself. From all appearances, this room had been cleared out and the organ had been miracled in. Besides the organ, there were plenty of fake spider webs and skulls, a few lit-up torches which cast an ominous glow over the room, a table covered with implements designed for surgical procedures, and a large filing cabinet labeled ODTHAEHHDALAWLOHFE™.

Raphael could at least appreciate that Azazel had a lovely collection of surgical implements, if nothing else.

After the song was over, he grandiosely stood up and turned to face the two angels. Aziraphale was starting to stir. "Good morning, Raphael, my great, great foe," he crooned, removing a non-existent imperfection from his suit. "I must say I have been waiting for this day for such a long, long time."

"What'sh goin' on?" Aziraphale asked, eyelids fluttering.

"Hush, darling," Raphael said soothingly, and he tried to move his arm so he could push his hair out of his face. "It's all right."

"Don't ignore me," Azazel said tersely, crossing the room quickly and grabbing Raphael by the hair and yanking his head up.

Raphael glared at him. "What are you doing?"

"Someone once said that revenge is a dish best served cold," Azazel purred, running his lips over Raphael's neck, "but I've always disagreed with that. Revenge is a dish best served with an appetizer of baked angel skins, and it should consist of a delicious medium-rare angel steak, an angel salad, a glass of nice cold angel juice, and some angel-bit brownies for dessert. Temperature is relative; the ingredients are what matter."

"Azazel, we're supposed to be allies! Release us!" Raphael commanded as Aziraphale foggily mused on how none of that sounded appetizing. _Not even the brownies_.

The Archdemon began practically prancing amongst the two strapped-down angels. "Trust me when I say all the pain of the torments that Satan – All Hail Satan! – _might_ deliver upon me are _nothing_ compared to the pleasure I'm going to get from delivering those same torments on _you_!" With this declaration, he burst into laughter. "And if what I've been told is true, I'll be _rewarded_ for killing you both! Rewarding me for this seems excessive, but I'm not complaining!"

"You two had your problems millennia ago!" Aziraphale protested, now wide awake and struggling at the straps; he finally seemed to notice that Azazel had taken the time to etch some demonic symbols into the thick leather, but he didn't seem to be deterred by it as he continued to fight them. "And he didn't kill you but could have! Honestly, in the grand scheme of things it isn't that bad!"

Azazel ran a clawed finger over Aziraphale's jaw-line, the very tip digging into the angel's skin. "In the grand scheme of things, I'm going to have one damn delicious meal."

"At least let _him_ go!" Raphael protested, looking pained at the skin sliced open on Aziraphale's face, "He had nothing to do with it!"

Azazel's smile turned almost feral. "Oh, but he did. He had _plenty_ to do with it. Because _he_ is what you hold dear – which is a critical part of ODTHAEHHDALAWLOHFE™."

"Bless you," both angels said together.

The Archdemon shuddered. "No, no, no! ODTHAEHHDALAWLOHFE™!" Azazel shook his head to get himself back on track. "Nevertheless half of the Operation involves tormenting those who the Healer loves, which is _you_ , you poufy git!"

"What! Stop it!" Raphael cried in alarm, "Please! He – he's got nothing – I mean, you can hurt me other ways, but him-"

Aziraphale smiled at Raphael sadly. "Father dearest, thank you but we both know all the pleading in the world won't stop him from hurting me to hurt you. Try to close your eyes and pretend it's not happening." _And,_ Aziraphale said in his head, hoping his father could hear him, _use the time he's focused on me to try to escape!_

Raphael ignored him. "Azazel! I will do anything you want if you don't hurt him! You're upset with me, not him, _please!_ "

Azazal materialized a wickedly-curved knife. "Ohhhh, well, Raphael, I'm not entirely convinced you're sincere about that. Why don't you keep trying? The harder you try, the less you and your son get hurt."

Raphael breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, that's quite thoughtful of you, really."

"Aaaaand that was a lie. I didn't think that would work at all, but I'm not complaining. As it is, my dear Raphael, this is going to feel like Hell to you. Sweet, sweet karma." The Archdemon grinned.


	16. The Gospel According to Michael

" _My Child, brave and true, what is it you most desire?"_  


_The angel with golden curls cheered, "I want a really cool fight scene! You know, with a lake of fire, huge spikes, an unstoppable foe, a few holy glowing swords, dramatic music playing in the background, a super-cool monster, an audience – no, wait, no audience, it's cooler if we're isolated, like on an island or something, and… oh man, gimme a minute, the rest'll come to me!"_

_And so he was named Michael, Who is Like Unto God, only he misunderstood the name – he thought it was a statement, whereas it was a question, and Gabriel took glee in correcting him. He was unhappy until he found out he was made the Warrior, the Protector, and through him others would know of the Lord's Awesome Might. Then he was Content, and the Lord was Pleased._

In the Beginning, there was Heaven and it was nice, with lots of clouds and sunshine and happy people floating around. Yeah, the ground's made of clouds, so what? That's classic, and anyway it looks really cool to see gardens growing out of clouds. It really blows the minds of humans that come up; not that any humans were there at this point, but yeah, you get the idea. Plus clouds are easy to clean. Somehow.

Heaven was a great place until this whiner, who until then had one of the better gigs, decided he didn't feel like not being the best anymore, which is weird when you consider how badly he sucked. So rather than just suck it up and deal with it, no, he decided to take on an omnipotent being, because that's smart, sure.

"I want power and glory!" raved this lunatic called Lucifer, "Because I'm a total prick!"

Everyone ran screaming because Lucifer at the time looked like a big red monster – like one of those cave-dwelling things from that movie Uriel likes, you know, the one on fire that burns down the bridge with the cool music in the background? Yeah, that thing, only red.

"Give me what I want or else I'll kill everyone here even though we're all immortal!" Lu roared menacingly, and he even had some wusses backing him up because they were scared of him – hence why they're wusses. "I am the great and powerful Lucifer, the Light-Bringer (which means nothing by the way, the _sun_ brings light, not Lucifer, come _on_ ), and I demand respect for no reason! I am an evil demon grrrrr!"

God snorted. "Michael, get this fake shit out of here."

Out of the shadows came the Ass-Kicker of God, Michael, who rolled his shoulders, cracked his knuckles and proceeded to beat the ever-living crap out of this upstart and his friends, after which he kicked them all out of Heaven, damning them all to Hell for the grievous sin of sucking. Some guy named Samael grabbed on to Michael's wings and tried to drag him down with them, but Michael punched him in the face and shoved him down into Hell too.

"I overcompensate for my general level of not being awesome by insulting everything," said Gabriel. "I secretly yearn to be just like Michael, although it is hardly a good secret, considering _everyone_ yearns to be like Michael."

"You don't have to be like me," said Michael, "you could just be my super sexy girlfriend."

"Oh, I have been direly insulted and yet somehow complimented at the same time. Michael you are so creative and clever and witty, and I wish we were a couple."

"Yeah, I know," said Michael, who was totally not pining over Gabriel and hadn't been for like thousands of years or anything like that.

_(God was softly crying. "Michael, you are now My Second, My Viceroy of Heaven. Please… do not follow in your twin's footsteps."_

_Michael solemnly bowed, accepting his new position. He purposefully strode out of the Palace. He was still injured, as he had avoided all possible healers; he wanted the scars from this fight. He needed them. He sprinted through Heaven despite a few leg wounds. He made it back to the Archangel nest, sneaking inside and hoping no one was around._

_He had intended on going to his room, but when he passed Lucifer's old quarters, he slipped inside. It was so dark now, when it used to be the lightest room…_

_He found the darkest corner, curled up there, and sobbed.)_

Then God made humans and everyone agreed they were kind of lame, so Michael didn't want too much to do with them. But he was given the task of taking care of Israel, God's favorite country, and while he tried to, it turned out the early Israelites had no survival instincts whatsoever so they kept getting conquered or doing horrible things (Yes, let's worship a gold cow statue! That sounds like a great idea, especially right after our previous deity got us out of enslavement to a horrible foreign country by _parting a sea right in front of our faces and using it to drown the people who enslaved us_! But instead we're going to worship this giant cow statue! It makes perfect sense!) that made Michael beat his head into the wall because he wasn't allowed to descend and smack them around. No one in Heaven held it against him because they all knew human beings were a bunch of nutcases when they put their minds to it.

Of course then this other demon who called himself Belial was all like, "I'm going to create this group and call them the Sons of Darkness which isn't cliché at all apparently and I'm going to kill lots of stuff."*

"Oh no," said the people of Earth, "we're so screwed!"

"Michael," said God, "take that bitch to town."

Michael Descended in Holy Light and beat the tar out of them, kicking them back into Hell and telling them to "stay there this time and quit whining about how much it sucks there because you're there because _you_ suck, duh, now shut up." They did so out of Fear of Michael (which, admittedly, is third; Fear of God is second, Fear of Raphael is definitely first).

"And don't you forget it," said Raphael sweetly.

Another time when Michael had to go down to Earth was because the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah were just so freaking evil that God was like, "Okay, Michael, Gabriel, see if you can find some decent people there so I don't have to blow some crap up." However, Michael and Gabriel went there to have some freaking lunch and this whole bunch of people tried to freaking rape Gabriel, for serious (really he looks so little and delicate like you could pull that off, but it doesn't mean you _should_ or should even _think_ about it, geez!), so yeah, they totally blew the two cities up. Michael face-palmed and Gabriel snarked about it, but both felt a bit better that they got to blow stuff up even if they decided to ignore the moral aspect of it.

A long time later, Michael got to spend some time in France. It was the best assignment he'd ever had because he got to tell a little girl how to beat the crap out of some invading army, which she did quite awesomely. But… then… well… you know… grrrr…

Michael decided then he _really_ didn't like humans, so he stayed in Heaven.

At least that was the case until a long time later when that Lucifer upstart, calling himself Satan or Adversary because he wanted to sound cooler than he ever could be, decided he was going to kill all of the humans, and that wasn't cool at all. God sighed as He watched the gate to Hell be broken open. "Michael, take out the trash would you?"

Michael gave Him a thumbs-up and Descended, proceeding to once again pwn (not own, _pwn_ , because _pwn_ is way more hardcore than _own_ ) the crap out of Lucifer and shove him back down into Hell. Some other people were there too.

"My best friend is made of cheese!" said Uriel, who was adorable even if he made no sense.

Then the world was saved and Michael didn't know what to do next. "Michael, you must rock the fuck out," said God, and so Michael started a rock band, with the help of the other three important Archangels, and proceeded to do just that. They were awesome, totally original, and everyone loved them. Michael was the lead singer and he had tons of groupies although he never did anything with them because Michael's an upstanding citizen, patron angel of chivalry you know. But he could have.

After that happened, a few years later Michael once again had to save the day, but this time he had to take down a monstrous beast called the Demonsbane, because Michael was the only one ever who could defeat this foul creature. So he walked around, cracking open heads until he found out where the coward was hiding.

( _There was no sense in delaying the inevitable. Michael had been given a task, and that task was to destroy the demon-slayer. It made tactical sense, even if it did make his insides crawl._

_A nun… a little girl…_

_"This sucks," he muttered as he flew._

_He still couldn't sense her, of course, but he had pestered enough demons who all said that she had last been spotted back in her native Germany, in the capital.)_

When he landed in Berlin, she was waiting for him. She gave him a look that bade him to follow her, which he did; he doubted she was leading him into a trap. It was more likely – and his assumption was proved right – that she was leading him out of town, to try to avoid anyone getting caught in the crossfire. Yet another reason he actually rather liked her…

She stopped and faced him down in a meadow.

Michael tried to Will himself into forgetting his opponent was a young girl. It was so much easier when she was the Demonsbane, the enemy of his… friend… Well, it didn't make it much easier for him to accept. They should be on the same side! And yet she obviously had steeled herself and gotten over the original consternation she might have felt at killing an angel; he could feel the curses, the occult power radiating from her new sword, and it made him want to vomit.

"Saint Michael, you are a worthy opponent," she said solemnly, "And I am honoured that you would consider me worth your time."

"So are you… whatever your name is. What _is_ your name?"

He never got to find out, because in the next instant she was dead. Her lifeless eyes never left his face as she fell to her knees and then forward. The blow had been through the heart; she never felt the stroke that killed her.

Standing behind where she had once been standing was the one person Michael both did and did not want to be there.

"Finally found you. Fighting little girls now, are we?" Lucifer purred, "For shame. Let's get you a fight that's actually _fair_."

"In which case it wouldn't be with you."

Around them the world began warping – before they had been in a meadow, but soon the strip of land they were on remained but the rest fell away, revealing a lake made of lava beneath them. The large tips of spikes appeared riddled throughout it. Large tentacles slid up from the lava to gently caress the sides of this new bridge; the Kraken, confused but not complaining, lay in wait to drag either warrior to their deaths. **

"Ah ah ah, that's why I'm here. You beat me once with the Old Man on your side; I beat you next time due to my superior army. I want Round Three; _mano-a-mano_ , The Emperor of Hell versus the General of the Heavenly Host, Satan versus Michael, no holds barred, no excuses, no second chances."

Michael grinned. "That's all I've ever wanted. But, just to warn you, we _are_ over a Lake of Fire."

Lucifer readied his twin, finely-crafted occult-enchanted long swords. "Revelations has been discarded; we are forging our own destinies now."

"Funny," Michael retorted, lifting his own sword, "my destiny is and always has been to kick your sorry, second-ranked arse."

Lucifer attacked.

Michael had spent the last twenty years training to deal with an opponent wielding two swords, as he hadn't had a clue during the last Armageddon that Lucifer had switched up his weapon choice. As a result Michael now had the advantage here; he and Lucifer had always been relatively equal, but Michael had been the leader of the Host for a reason. He was simply better than Lucifer when it came to matters of fighting. Also, when he had Fallen, Lucifer's powers had warped and ended up being slightly weaker than he had been when he was His Second; he was still strong enough to rule Hell of course...

But yet, as Michael dodged and struck back, managing to score a small wound on Lucifer's side, Michael realized he wasn't strong enough to defeat Lucifer in a contest of power either. Crap.

They were _equals_.

It was a thought that gave neither of them comfort as they tried to kill each other and found that it was almost impossible to do so. Michael was feeling drained even as he continued to inflict wound after minor wound. The music in the background picked up tempo.

This was it. This was the Duel. The Battle between Satan and Michael; the foretold fight; the Clash of the Superpowers. Michael needed to win this – for Heaven, for himself, for Raphael, for Uriel, for those other guys…

For Gabriel…

With a shove, Michael pushed one of Lucifer's arms out of the way and shoved his sword into his stomach.

* * *

* Belial's first and last attempt to try taking over the world, which he had only done because he had been blackmailed into doing so by his drinking buddy, Asmodeus, over a night involving six bottles of wine, too much absinthe and a lovelorn llama.

** And you'd better believe there was an orchestra complete with a Latin-singing choir in the background, singing about destiny and fated battles, et al. ***

*** Not the same Latin-chanting-choir-orchestra song that played when Uriel destroyed Mammon in the Prequel, mind you.

* * *

_The events of Michael's narrative were, although filled with trash-talking and ego-laden vernacular, technically true (except, of course, for Gabriel's little speech regarding Michael's virtues.) However, he had simply been too ashamed to admit that he had been stabbed by his twin in the exact same spot._


	17. Chapter Fifteen

During the rally for Evilosoth the Destroyer Conqueror of World's conquest of the entire country of Switzerland, their government having declared him their sole ruler, a cell phone went off. Luckily for the owner, the crowd was too loud for anyone to hear it, and so she escaped unscathed.

_"Oooo baby do you know what that's worth? Oooo Heaven is a place on-"_

"Hello?" she said into the phone once she was far enough away so that she could hear a response.

"Hi!" answered Adam, "It actually worked!"

"You can take your powers back?" Jesus asked excitedly.

"Er, no, I meant it worked that I can call you. I _am_ in Hell, you know."

"Oh."

"But, well, we talked it out, and there is definitely a chance I _could_ take my powers back," Adam continued hopefully, "which is the good news. Wensleydale's optimistic, and he's even done research!"

Jesus sighed. "And what is the bad news?"

"To do it, I have to get close to him. Touch him. And I don't have my powers on Earth, only in Hell."

Jesus blinked as she digested that. "But, but that's next to impossible! The man is a tank, and he could crush you with his mind before you even thought about getting close!"

"There is that," Adam admitted. "But, but Pep, Brian and Wens all agreed they'd be my bodyguards, and they have their powers on Earth too*, and if you're there, then we should be fine!"

"Define 'fine.'"

"Um… not killed brutally?" Adam supplied.

"I don't like that definition, but we'll take what we can get. When can you all come Up?"

There were suddenly four people standing in front of her. All four of them looked perfectly human; the curly-haired handsome blond man, the slightly less radiant but by no means unattractive other blond man, the red-headed freckly woman, and the dirty-looking brown-haired man. "That was fast," Jesus admitted.

"It worked," Wensleydale said in surprise, looking around.

"Well of course it did!" Brian exclaimed, "Some of us have spent countless hours practicing using our hell powers of coolness!"

"What did I say about you calling them that?" Pepper demanded, cracking her knuckles threateningly. Brian looked dejected. "Anyhow, so we need to beat the crap out of some bloke who thinks he can just go around killing everyone?"

"I need to find him!" Adam exclaimed, "He took my powers! Let me get assassinated! Thinks he's so great just because he's Antichrist Version 2.0 – I was a great Antichrist! _Am_ a great Antichrist! And this guy is gonna have to watch his back because I'm gonna find him and get my powers back, and then, then I'm _not_ gonna destroy the world, just 'cause I don't want to!"

"That's the spirit, Adam!" Jesus cheered.

"And now that we've got our own set of awesome powers, we're going to help you!" Brian gushed.

"Actually we're the ones who _have_ powers now," Wensleydale murmured.

"We're going to find this guy and beat the crap out of him, get back my powers, and all that stuff," Adam said with finality.

"If you like him so much why don't you marry him," Pepper drawled.

Jesus sighed. "It's Adam and _Eve_ , not Adam and _Eve-ilosoth the Destroyer Conqueror of Worlds._ "

"So what have you been up to since we last saw each other?" Adam asked after a spell of awkward silence.

"Oh, nothing interesting," she said innocently.

"Why're you wearing bubble wrap?" Pepper asked, her gaze clearly showing she didn't know if she was impressed or terrified.

"It's not bubble wrap," Jesus protested. She was clad in a shimmery dress that was adorned with large bubbles. To contrast, her straight blonde hair hadn't been tampered with.

"We've been kicking butt in Hell," Brian told her proudly. "Even if Adam doesn't listen to _any of my ideas!"_

"Your ideas are all plagiarized!" Adam snapped back.

"And no one knows that but _you!_ "

"You're both crazy," Wensleydale muttered.

Pepper cracked her knuckles. "Let's get going!" she proclaimed. "I want to see this guy for myself!"

"You go, girl," said Jesus.

* * *

* Not long after they had set up shop in Hell as a quartet, they had tried coming back to visit Earth. Upon finding out that Adam was powerless, while the other three were not, Brian had begun talking jovially (and jokingly) about supplanting him. Pepper had kicked him in a kidney and made him apologize. She takes her job very seriously. Adam even gave her a raise.

* * *

Aziraphale was trembling in rage but there wasn't anything he could do. He had been blindfolded, as had his father, and while he _knew_ something just plain awful was happening to him, he couldn't see it and of course his darling, stubborn father was refusing to make any noises.

 _I'm so sorry!_ he projected, hoping it would go through, _I really am, I've been trying to break free but he's done something to the straps!_

 _Demonic sigils, love,_ Raphael replied, his voice sounding strained even in Aziraphale's head. _It's quite all right. He's so –_ an internal wince – _excited, so this really doesn't hurt at all. And who needs wings anyway? I certainly don't. I haven't flown all that much since you left the nest anyway. And regardless he's hardly a prime example of creativity, which is rather sad when you consider he's had thousands of years to plot this._

Aziraphale balked before wibbling a bit, although of course Raphael couldn't see it. _I just… ooo if I could only get free…! Well I'll just keep distracting you then, dear, that's the best I can do it seems and although I wish I could do more I'll do all I can!_

Raphael chuckled weakly. _Oh Zizi my sweetling, I'd rather be destroyed a thousand times over than see a single hair on your head harmed, so really, so long as you remain unharmed I shall be just fine. And it's certainly not as if Mr. Azazel hasn't told me time and time, and time and time, again of his intentions. In retrospect it would have been more prudent to assure he didn't ever end up behind me, although I'll admit I thought he was all bark and no bite, so to speak._

 _Ooo this is all my fault!_ Aziraphale admitted, _I told myself that you would be too trusting and to keep an eye on him, but I grew too complacent as well – I didn't think he would move so fast I suppose, or maybe I thought he wouldn't do anything with two of us there, but regardless I'll smite him for this I swear it!_

Raphael didn't respond. Aziraphale began to panic, struggling harder against his binds. "What have you done to him!" he shouted, trying with renewed vigor to get free, ignoring the burning the cursed leather was inflicting on his wrists.

The blindfold was removed and Aziraphale gasped loudly at what had been done to his father. He then instantly regretted it, given the look of satisfaction that appeared on Azazel's pierced face. "Hmm, only about a thousand years' worth of agony," Azazel sneered, gesturing to the limp Archangel. "Which of course means I have a thousand years left to go, now doesn't it? Give or take a millennia, of course; I forget sometimes how long it's been since he betrayed me."

"You're a complete and utter – you're a right bastard is what you are!" Aziraphale snapped back, still struggling.

Raphael's good eye opened and he smiled at Aziraphale weakly. "B' nice," he chided softly.

Azazel's grin widened even further when Raphael proved himself still conscious. "You're a tougher bird than I thought you were," he marveled, "Although it is _exactly_ what I was hoping!" He ran a palm over Aziraphale's cheek quite tenderly, making the angel's insides turn. "What fun would violating your son be if you weren't awake to see it, after all?"

Raphael got a very angry glint in his eye that made Aziraphale's insides twist into knots, and not because of fear for _himself._

* * *

Michael and Satan lay next to each other, both breathing heavily and staunching their grievous sword wounds. For lack of anything better to do, Michael reached out with a leg and began weakly kicking.

"What are you doing?" Satan asked in annoyance.

" 'm s'pposed to cast you into the Lake of Fire," Michael reminded him, still kicking Satan's thigh.

"Number… number one, I _said_ that Revelations isn't applicable anymore; and number two, 'm not going anywhere, so shut up 'n' stop kickin' me."

"If you were useful at all, you'd cast _yourself_ into the Lake of Fire."

"You keep talkin' but all I hear is blah blah blah."

"You won't hear anythin' after you burn and die in the Lake of Fire I'm casting you into." Kick kick kick.

"Shut up, Michael!"

"You shut up, Lulu."

"My name is not Lulu!"

"Yes it is!"

"No it's not!"

"Yes it is…"

* * *

Uriel was frowning as he and Belial kept walking through the haunted mansion. "Really, I have a feeling like I missed something important," said the angel crossly. "Something that I probably could have easily thwarted had I been there."

Belial, who knew full well what Uriel had missed, merely shrugged. "I hate that feeling," he said companionably.

"Or, in theory. I could have gotten a head wound while trying to thwart it. I hate hitting my head. I start seeing double and that's not fun, especially since Raphy never lets me smite what hit my head in the first place."

 _Because if he did, then every table, chair, door, book, floor and lamp would cease to exist,_ Belial thought. The Archdemon sighed internally and reasoned that Uriel was lucky he was an adorable powerhouse of destruction.

* * *

Crowley frowned. He had been tracing Aziraphale's Presence, weak though it was, and found himself drawn to run-down building with a sign out front. The sign had a cross and a pentacle with bullet holes in them. What was Aziraphale's Presence doing _here?_

Oh well, nothing to be done about it now. Crowley doubted Aziraphale would be dumb enough to come to such a place, but who else would he be sensing? Creeping into the building cautiously, he climbed a flight of stairs, drawn by the Presence. He had to find out.

He opened up the door. Inside were a group of humans sitting in a circle talking, all of whom stood up after doing double-takes at him. They were also all armed with weapons Crowley could feel were cursed.

Well. This wasn't good.

Crowley's face remained impassive as he stared down this group of humans who were now confronting him. There were too many, and they were clearly prepared to murder an angel, because nothing he was doing was even coming close to working. He could run, but they would get him from behind…

Instinctively in his nervousness his tongue flitted out, tasting the air; mere days after his Rising he had miracled his tongue able to do that, considering how often it had become a habit and it seemed wasteful to stick one's tongue out into the air for no benefit.

This time, his tongue brought him back some very interesting scents. One interesting scent in particular.

Aziraphale. One of the humans in the mob had a very faint trace of Aziraphale's fussy, boring scent and Presence on her, but which one… "Ssssso," he hissed, feeling his temper beginning to flare as he finally was able to confront whoever had nearly killed his soul mate, "which one of you pesssssky little humans decccccided to try offing a neutral angel? Goes by the name of Essssra Fell?"

A middle-aged woman near the edge of the pack gasped in recognition. "Mr. Crowley," she muttered, "Didn' recognize you for a second there. Figures you'd be one of them too."

"Oh, ssssssee, I'm _not_ one of them," Crowley purred back, bluffing but also buying his own bluff, "Assssssiraphale is much, much too nicccce to sssseek ssssomething like vengeanccccccce. I'm not. You fucked with the wrong angel, bitch."

He felt a distinct sense of closure. Barring that entire thing where he was an angel too, the one who hurt his angel was going to die by his hand, along with all of her angel-killing friends. It was fitting.

There was a sickening crack that no one but Crowley heard, and he felt the oddest sensation, the sense of connectedness that he had only just begun to get adjusted to being suddenly _gone_ , and there was a pain in his chest like one feels after one's ribcage has been squeezed for so very long and then suddenly released.

A pair of reptilian eyes opened behind their customary designer shades, and Crowley smirked like a snake.

* * *

Even napping as he was, Gabriel gave an eerily similar smile.

* * *

Johnny was done speaking now, having finally passed out. Hazel smiled to herself and stood up, stretching her sore limbs.

Really, that had been quite illuminating. From what she had been able to decipher – and she was quite the expert at archaic language and odd metaphors – she was absolutely right in her assumption that eventually Heaven and Hell would turn on each other. It was incredibly difficult to tell, but this was apparently going to happen after "the flames are extinguished" and then after "the great beast trembles." Of course, given Judeo-Christian imagery, that could mean almost anything…

She sighed, pulling out her cell phone. As she texted for some of her subordinates to come fetch her and bring weaponry (so many apologies, Johnny), she tried to remember exactly where in her office were her notes on religious iconography. This was going to take a lot of research, and she didn't have much time left.

Not much later, her private jet took off for London International.

* * *

Things had happened very quickly.

Azazel had manipulated Aziraphale's straps to spin the angel around so his front was pressed into the pillar. Then the demon had smacked him on the bum, and considering that Aziraphale wouldn't let even Crowley do that to him, he got an extremely affronted expression on his face. As he had been about to tell this upstart off, there was the sound of something ripping; specifically, the sound of leather ripping.

Aziraphale tried to turn his head so he could see, but later would realize how silly that was and that he was really better off thinking of his sweet, naïve, loveable father as being all those things and not an avatar of destruction. Although the sound of the voice that had read him stories and sung him lullabies hissing, _"No one hurts my son!_ " would be ingrained on his consciousness for a long time.

A sword cut Aziraphale's own binds. Aziraphale had been about to congratulate Raphael on a job well done and start healing, but first Raphael completely collapsed and Aziraphale had to dive to catch him.

The Healer burned to the touch. Azazel – who was now Azazel _s_ – had taken great pains to assure that another angel couldn't heal Raphael or that Raphael couldn't heal himself should something go wrong.

"Oh bugger," Aziraphale murmured, trying to get Raphael as comfortable as possible as he took off his own shirt to press into open wounds. "Oh fuck. I'm so sorry!"

"B' _nice._ M' Zizi," Raphael whispered fondly before passing out.

If Aziraphale had still been in his human corporation, it would have died of a heart attack.

* * *

Crowley sighed, his feelings of satisfaction short-lived. To distract himself from what he had just done, he miracled the room clean and started rummaging around. There was only one computer in the room, and so Crowley sat down and started peer-pressuring it into telling him what he wanted to know.

He was mildly impressed at the sheer amount of protective measures guarding their information, but no piece of technology alive had ever outdone him. If he could make Aziraphale's decades-old "computer" still run, he could easily hack into their security system.

Of course, now that the angelic need to "think about what other people want" was gone, Crowley vowed he was going to set that bloody clunky thing on fire; no way was something like that allowed to exist in the same abode he did! And Aziraphale, knowing him, would protest and maybe get angry for approximately two hours before embracing the sleek new model Crowley would replace it with, even if he had no comprehension of how to use it.

Anyhow.

"Ah ha," he murmured, checking over the files. Their leader was one Ms. Hazel Prue Fair-Alsip, despite the unwieldy name. Quickly clicking around, he discovered her office was in a building back in Lower Tadfield, which the file indicated was her hometown. "Huh. Weird," he admitted, even as he wondered whether he should go 'pay her a visit' before or after finding Aziraphale.

When he focused on the angel, he was nearly overwhelmed by a sense of terror and dread, and Crowley quickly stood up. Figuring he might be flying into danger, he chose that moment to decide that it was about time he got himself a decent weapon. Miracling gloves onto his hands*, he reached down and took a blessed handgun, tucking it into the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

He ran out of the building to his Bentley. "You stay right there, got it? Be safe!" he instructed it. He finally miracled the blood off him and took flight yet again, following Aziraphale's real trail now that his proper snake-ish senses were returned in full.

_Cr…_

He frowned but kept flying. Clearly he was imagining things.

_Crawly… Craaaaaawly…_

"Huh?" he asked aloud. "Who's-"

There was a loud popping noise.

 _I'm back!_ exclaimed Inner Hastur happily.

" _NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"_

* * *

 _*_ Stylish leather replacement gloves for the ones that Aziraphale destroyed fighting Beelzebub; specially formatted to allow Crowley to handle blessed items without repercussions. In fact, considering that after the aforementioned battle Crowley's needs had changed, Aziraphale had taken great pains to assure that the gloves could pick up both cursed and blessed items. Although he had done so to try appeasing Crowley with regard to his stealing the Bentley, Crowley never quite forgave him for it (although he did keep the gloves.)


	18. Chapter Sixteen

"Move your foot," Satan ordered imperiously.

"I'm not touching you," Michael retorted, his foot exactly a half inch from Satan's calf. "I'm not touching you, I'm not touching you!"

"Shut up!"

"I'm not touching you, I'm not touching you, I'm not touching you…"

* * *

Up in Heaven, where he had been curled up taking a much-needed catnap, Gabriel sat up straight with a look of shock on his face.

"Michael?" he said aloud, his hand going to his upper stomach without thinking. There was something wrong with the oaf, wasn't there? More wrong than usual, even. He could _feel_ it. How vexing. He curled back up on the couch and sighed, deciding to let the fool deal with whatever trouble he'd gotten himself into.

_And you'd better live, 'cause I... well, I can't live without you, you prissy bastard._

Gabriel threw the pillow across the room in a rare display of outright anger. "Fine," he snarled, "fine, but only because somehow, someway that imbecile is His Second, and _only_ because of that reason!" The Messenger stood up, brushed himself off, fixed his luxurious thick brown hair, and descended to where he could feel Michael was.

"I cannot believe my eyes," Gabriel admitted, staring down at the two near-death blonds.

"Oh _shit_ ," Satan moaned, "Treaty! Treaty!"

"Ha ha, you suck," Michael crooned weakly.

Satan kicked him. Michael kicked him back.

Gabriel looked to the Heavens. "There's _three of them?_ Lord! The moron was too much, the redheaded personification was much too much, but really, Lucifer too? Must you continue to make me associate with complete and utter fools who have no regard for their physical safety? I understand that one is the Warrior and one is the personification of War, but Lucifer has no excuse! _He's supposed to be the eldest among us!_ "

And a Voice from Heaven responded, _Eh, you like it._

For lack of any better idea, Gabriel took both Michael and Satan back to what had become "home base": Aziraphale and Crowley's nest. After getting them both into bed together, Gabriel frowned as he healed Satan enough so that the Emperor of Hell would not accidentally expire.

"Heal me the rest of the way!" Satan commanded.

"You are no Emperor of _Mine_ , Morningstar," Gabriel retorted, "and I will not heal the rest of your blessed wounds until someone comes along who can heal Michael at the same time. You could do us all a favor and heal him, but I doubt you would do that because that would be _logical_ on your part."

"Ha ha," Michael crooned.

"Shut up! I will _never_ consent to this moron being uninjured again," Satan said, pouting and crossing his arms.

Michael stuck his tongue out at him.

"Do I dare ask what you two were fighting about when we are supposed to be on the same side?" Gabriel asked tiredly.

"He started it," they both said at the same time, followed by, "Did _not_!"

"Oh please. I know both of you well enough to know that you are both to blame. That is not my point. You," he pointed at Michael seriously, "were supposed to be slaying Dämonverderben – don't give me that look, Michael, I checked in with Metatron after all – and _you_ ," he pointed at Satan, "were supposed to be using your renewed ability to come to Earth to destroy Humanity. Either the two of you got confused as to the other's identity, or you were deliberately ignoring orders."

"The chi – huge dragon-basilisk-behemoth thing with the fire and acid breath is dead," Michael established proudly, "Smote. Don't have to worry about, er, it anymore."

"I totally killed-" Satan was about to rat out Michael's foe being a young girl but realized that _he_ had, in fact, stabbed said young girl in the back, which was equally unimpressive, so he amended, "the monstrous ginormous beast of a demon slayer, not him. I should get all the credit."

"You stabbed it in the back!"

"Because _you_ weren't good enough to stab it in the front!"

"Uh! I totally was! You didn't give me a chance to!"

"Both of you be _silent,_ " Gabriel snarled. The two blonds did so. "I will heal you eventually, Lucifer, but _only_ after Michael is similarly healed, and _only_ after you illuminate me. You found out where Michael was so quickly, but there was no way you could have tracked him down without help…"

"And apparently Raphael and Uriel should be dead now too," Satan smirkingly replied, before his expression turned a bit discomfited and he admitted, "Well, I suppose if those plots had worked out, you would be doing the whole wailing and gnashing of teeth bit."

"Ah. I thought it was all entirely too easy to be merely coincidental, but now I _know_ that your side is setting us up."

"Of course we are," Satan scoffed.

Michael reached up and smacked him on the back of the head.

"Don't touch me!" Satan snapped, although the slap hadn't hurt at all given the physical state of the slapper.

"Nyeeeeeeeh, you can't stop me loooooooser!"

"As I was going to say, there's simply no way you could have pulled any of that off without help. Who is your informant?" Gabriel asked, ignoring the two morons.

"Why should I tell you?" Satan hissed.

Gabriel blinked. "Because if you don't you'll die slowly and painfully."

"… Oh. Right. Fine." He grinned.

* * *

Raguel, one of the Seven Who Stands Before the Lord in his position as Archangel of Angelic Harmony, felt utterly and absolutely useless. How could he not? His job was ultimately pointless; the only angelic animosity was between Michael and Gabriel (and Metatron and everyone, but that was a lost cause if ever there was one), and they all outranked him and thus didn't have to listen to him… And barring that, there was always Raphael, who was so much better that taking care of that sort of thing anyway!

However, at that moment in time, Raguel's Harmony sense was tingling, and he looked up from a book to see Gabriel, in a rage, ascend to Heaven and march down the cobblestone main street, headed towards the Palace.

Raguel's warm brown eyes lit up and he pursued Gabriel with glee. "Now Gabriel dear, I can tell you're thinking of doing something harsh to one of your Siblings, but-"

"Go away, Raguel."

"Aw _come on_ ," he whined, the mirth forgotten. He stopped pursuing and pouted instead, kicking away a stray piece of cloud.

Gabriel's fists were clenched. Of course it had been him! Who else would have betrayed them? With the Lord mostly silent ( _except, apparently, for smarmy commentary,_ he noted dryly) and the Archangels out of Heaven (the ones anyone cared about, anyhow), there was no one to contest him. He was in the perfect position to orchestrate the destruction of those above him. Gabriel was furious with himself for not suspecting this sooner.

"Metatron," he demanded, "Come forth."

Metatron appeared in a flash of fire. "Greetings, Messenger. What is it you require of us?" His expression was completely passive; a perfect poker face.

"Do _not_ start the 'we' talk, traitor," Gabriel hissed. "You've been working with the enemy to kill us."

Metatron's expression did not change. "You accuse us of grave things; treason is not an accusation to be made lightly. Who do you believe we-"

_"Quit calling yourself 'we.'"_

Metatron sighed. "Yes, yes. Who do you believe _I_ have betrayed? And what evidence do you have of this?"

Gabriel felt his own halo glowing in response to Metatron's fiery look, just to look equally as glorious as he did at the moment. "I have had my suspicions, but Satan has asserted that _you_ were the one who orchestrated attacks on Michael, Raphael and Uriel by informing Satan of Michael's location and by instructing Azazel to attack Raphael and Belial to attack Uriel at the exact same time. You were hoping to remove three Archangels in unison."

Metatron quirked his head to the side. "You said you gained this information from the enemy, and then went on to establish that the enemy is the Adversary. You are aware that we are in a peace treaty with Hell for the moment?"

"Yes I am; however, they violated said peace treaty when they attacked us."

Metatron's face remained passive. "You throw around many accusations with only the word of the Prince of Lies as your evidence. This is beneath you, Gabriel."

Gabriel's halo burned brighter in response to that. " _Beneath_ me? Three of my Siblings could have _perished –_ one could have lost his _son_ as well, as I am sure Aziraphael was with him – because of these attacks. You have the motive and the means to aid our enemies in these personalized attacks, and you could continue to do so. That Satan exposed you came as no surprise to anyone, least of all me. What _else_ have you been doing? It was our mistake to leave you in charge unopposed and unsupervised but I will _not_ let this continue."

Metatron glared. "And who are _you_ to bring these charges against me? So long as that buffoon stays out of Heaven, I am in command here, even over you, as for now _I_ control the Hosts while he is away."

"You had best not mean Michael," Gabriel hissed. "Compared to _you_ , Michael is a graceful butterfly with an IQ well above the mean."

Metatron scoffed at that. "Your entire nest is dysfunctional and insane. Heaven would be purified once we get rid of the vast majority of your members." The Voice smiled some might say angelically. "As a bonus, the thorn that is Aziraphael would finally be removed from our – _my_ side. However, I have not directed any violence against your nest, and insist you withdraw the accusations at once."

Gabriel reminded himself that attacking Metatron was an incredibly Michael move and thus far beneath him. "You'll note that you have no such family as the one you just insulted, and it is for a very specific reason."

"Hmph. My family is the Lord for whom I-"

There was a loud yawning noise and out from the Palace walked Yahweh, His arms stretched above His head. After He finished His yawn, He rubbed His eyes. "What's all the commotion about?" He asked, "You interrupted my nap during that show about remodeling that I like so much."

"Lord, Your Wayward Servant Gabriel is bearing false witness against u – me!" Metatron declared grandiosely, gesturing to Gabriel with a wide arc of his arm.

"Lord, Your Egomaniacal Voice Metatron has been betraying The Children time and time again and now denies it," Gabriel retorted, refusing to point for the principle of it all.

God frowned. The clouds of Heaven darkened a few shades. "I see. Gabriel, what specifics and proof do you have of Metatron's treachery?"

"All incidentals," Metatron scoffed.

"Be _silent_ , Metatron, I was speaking to Gabriel," God chastised.

"Father," Gabriel said, his own voice wavering as he realized he had never seen God outright frown for so long before, "an accomplice gave L – Satan," the name of Lucifer was no longer permitted to be spoken in Heaven, "Michael's location and allowed him to attack the Warrior unprepared. Also, the same accomplice orchestrated that two other Fallen would kill Raphael and Uriel at the same time. Thankfully this plan did not succeed, and my Siblings yet live, but I still do not wish to take the chance that the traitor will not strike again. When pressed, Satan gave the name of Metatron as his accomplice. Considering that Metatron has expressed displeasure with us before, especially with Raphael and his son, and also given that Metatron is in control of Heaven while we are away, I find that the motives and abilities fit."

God nodded and looked at Metatron. "And you, Voice? What have you to say?"

Only someone very sensitive to angelic auras could tell that Metatron was nervous now. "The Messenger, Lord, is clearly very ill after his own brush with death and his later discorporation. His word ought not to be trusted until after the war is over, if even then. I will, of course, forgive my Sibling his slights against me, given how unwell he obviously is."

Gabriel's jaw dropped. "You – _you_ –"

God sighed, shaking his head forlornly. "Metatron. I gave you a chance to seek redemption, to look for penance and reconciliation, to admit your sins and seek forgiveness. You Lied to Me instead."

It was Metatron's turn to stare in shock. "But Sir-"

"You have sinned against Me. You have grown too Proud. You assume that since you speak for Me you _are_ Me. You are not." A tear dripped down God's cheek. "Uriel."

The Archangel of Repentance and the Presence appeared next to his Creator. "Yes Lord."

"He has betrayed you and your kin. Sever him."

For the first time in history, Metatron looked and felt afraid. "My Lord, there's no need! Anything is better than becoming a lowly demon! Please!"

"Of course, Lord," the Severer said somberly.

"Uriel I order you to desist!" Metatron roared in his more authoritative Voice.

Uriel ignored him. "Metatron Mithras, the Light denies and rejects thee."

" _URIEL I COMMAND THEE TO STOP!"_

"Be gone from the Kingdom, be gone from the Light. You have no power here, ye who saw yourself as above Shaddai."

Uriel jerked his arm in a slashing motion.

As Metatron screamed out his rage, there was a brilliant flash of light and all of Heaven shook.

When Gabriel's eyes began working again, he saw a newly-peaceful Uriel bow to the Lord. Metatron was nowhere to be seen, but the echoes of his pain-filled screams could still be heard. "Thy Will be done."

God reached over and patted Uriel on the head. Uriel began purring like a kitten.

Gabriel was still in shock, staring at where Metatron had once been. "Well. That's one way of dealing with him, I suppose. Honestly, lying to an omnipotent being is likely the least intelligent thing one could do, and I say that having seen plenty of unintelligent things in my existence."

"I love the screams of the Damned!" Uriel exclaimed cheerfully.

God increased the rubbing of Uriel's curly-black-haired head. "You scary, scary child. I love you."

"Awww, yay," said Uriel.

Gabriel had no idea how to feel, and as such chose to feel nothing. He Descended and informed Michael and Satan that Metatron had been Felled, and neither of them looked terribly surprised.

" _Finally_ ," Michael muttered.

"I've been waiting for him for awhile," Satan agreed.

Michael patted him on the shoulder. "Your loss, buddy."

"Don't I know it. And don't touch me."

"Excuse you, by virtue of my awesomeness _you_ are touching _me_."

"That doesn't even make sense."

" _You_ don't make-"

"Stop it," Gabriel hissed. The two sobered like chastised children. Before Gabriel could continue, however, a blue light shone in from the ceiling.

"Hello?" called a voice, "Michael? Are you there?"

"Hey Zerachiel," Michael called back to the light, "So you're in charge now?"

"In lieu of Metatron, yes, I am," the voice replied back. "It turns out he was hiding quite a bit of information. I have known this for some time, being the Watcher as I am, but it has recently come to my attention that you might not know this – are you aware there is an Antichrist on the loose?"

"Huh?" Michael asked. Satan looked quite proud of himself.

"Yes," Zerachiel continued, "only this one seems to be defective in a much different way than the last one was."

"What? None of my Antichrists are def – all right maybe the one was, but this one is perfect! He-"

"We recently lost contact with a small battalion, and believe this is the case because they encountered him," Zerachiel recounted without inflexion.

"Ha ha," Satan crooned.

"Also, our demonic allies have reported they, too, have lost forces to this new Antichrist."

"What!" Satan no longer looked so cocky.

"Yes, from what we have seen, he has no morals whatsoever, and is driven by an insatiable desire to see existence no longer, for lack of a better term, exist. You may do with this information as you see fit, Sir Michael, but it was being kept from you for a reason, I suspect."

"To be fair to our dearly departed Metatron," Gabriel drawled, "this could have been to prevent anyone from taking action against this Antichrist for a nefarious purpose, or to prevent the tactical genius that is His Second from blindly charging in and getting cut down."

"Hey now, I could totally take any stupid Antichrist," Michael retorted, clearly offended.

"No you can't, because _I_ am going to kill him," Satan sneered.

Michael turned his head to look at him like one examines someone who just declared that they wish to hunt down and destroy their pet dog. "Excuse you, but _you're_ going to fight him? I don't think so, Lulu."

Satan's head snapped to look at him. "Don't _ever_ call me that _again_ ," he sneered.

"Your messed-up Antichrist killed a whole bunch of my angels, so I'm going to hunt him down and kill him. You can stay home and knit or something with Gabriel."

"I do not knit," Gabriel interjected.

"He's _my_ failed Antichrist, so _I'm_ going to kill him!" Satan retorted hotly.

"You couldn't even kill the _last_ one! How many of the stupid things are you going to make before you realize it's not a good idea!"

"… … … Shut up!"

"You shut up!"

"No, you!"

To make himself feel better, Gabriel hit his head on the wall.

"Never mind!" Satan declared grandiosely, "You! Mailman! You have your information, now I demand the healing I am due!"

"Oh go bugger yourself," said Gabriel.

"Ew, don't say that while I'm in bed with him," Michael whined.

Gabriel ignored him and continued addressing Satan, "As I said before, you will not be healed until Michael is. So summon one of your lackies to heal Michael and you will be free to go."

Satan and Michael both looked sick at the reminder that, for all of their bickering, they both were hit with mortal wounds, Michael's worse at the moment due to lack of any sort of healing intervention. Satan smiled, crossed his arms and leaned backwards. "Actually, if it means taking Michael down with me, I think I'll just sit here and wait."

"Smooth move, dumbass," Michael hissed, "You'd really rather us both die than have me live?"

Satan smiled at him. "Actually, yes, I would. Because Mailman patched me up, you'll die first, and all the pain in Creation will be worth it to watch you finally die. After all," he continued, giving Gabriel a sly smirk, "Mailman wouldn't kill a defenseless, wounded opponent, now would he?"

Gabriel frowned as his heart started pounding unnecessarily. What was that lunatic doing? Condemning Michael to death for his own stupid pride? Michael was certainly an absurd creature, but he didn't deserve to really die, and certainly not from a wound given to him by Satan of all people, why, that would be just unnecessarily cruel, and –

He shook his head to stop his train of thought. He would just have to think of another demon, one who wouldn't mind defying the Morningstar to his face.

Someone who could be easily manipulated, if not by him then by someone else.

Gabriel almost smiled. The Messenger closed his eyes, clasped his hand in prayer and began to glow in communion with the Presence, reaching out, trying to find –

_Uriel? Uriel, can you hear me?_

_Gaaaaaaabriel!_ There was the sensation of being glomped. _I'm walking around a very scary evil place with monsters and stuff with my good frie – er, all by myself, yes. I haven't heard from you in soooo looooong, except that I just saw you, but where have you been?_

 _Uriel,_ Gabriel replied, _I know you're there with Belial_.

Awe came back to him through this hastily-forged bond. _How did you know that?_ the other Archangel breathed. *

_Never mind that. Could the two of you please come back to Aziraphael and Crowley's nest? Michael has been injured and we need –_

Instantly Uriel was there and a very surprised-looking Belial was standing next to him. "Oh _Michael_ , you've been _stabbed_ , and – Big Brother Lucifer look at you you've been stabbed too!" Uriel wailed, throwing himself on the bed between the two blonds.

Michael winced, as of course Uriel's hand had managed to land on the stab wound. "Hi yourself, Uriel."

"Get off me," Satan sneered.

"Uriel," Gabriel said, "the wounds-"

" _Wound_ ," Michael corrected, "There's only the one."

"-Michael has are demonic and cursed in nature and thus cannot be healed through our abilities. A demon needs to heal him, and quickly, lest he die from them."

"It."

Uriel looked at Belial with large eyes.

"Don't you _dare,_ Belial!" Satan ordered, "I don't care if I die as long as I take him down with me! Turn around and leave right now!"

Uriel's eyes filled with tears.

Belial caved and healed Michael's wound.

"So sorry Satan Sir but he's cuter than you are bye now!" Belial explained in a rush before he vanished from sight.

"Oooo, yay, what a wonderful Mr. Damned he is!" Uriel squealed, glomping Michael more effectively now that Michael was no longer in danger of dying. "I'm going to go give him a big hug!" He, too, disappeared.

Satan was seething in rage as Michael crawled out of bed to go stand next to Gabriel. The two Archangels didn't need to use words to communicate; Michael was silently offering to kill his injured immortal foe if Gabriel wanted him to, but only if, and Gabriel was debating whether he should keep his word and heal him, or sanction the destruction of the greatest evil.

Gabriel looked at Michael. "For what it's worth, if he causes any trouble I will blame you," he said without feeling.

"Sure," Michael said.

Gabriel healed Satan.

Satan rolled out of bed and was instantly clothed in his finest raiment. "The two of you can bite my Imperial arse; I have a traitor to destroy," he hissed before disappearing.

Once the two of them were alone, Gabriel looked at Michael and spoke the idea planted in his mind by Crowley's allegations and watered by two different but still painful near-death experiences.

"Michael, you redefine what it means to be a moron. If every single creature and non-creature – every speck of existence _in_ existence all came together and had their stupidity sucked out of them, melded into one super stupid creature, and that creature were sent to attack you, you would absorb it into yourself and would likely not even feel it. You are so incompetent that all creatures capable of higher thought – which, compared to you, is _everything_ – feel _pain_ at your very presence. That being said, you might be able to prove you have any sort of intellectual spark in that cavern you call a head if you listen to _exactly_ what I say. You are going to get back into bed, you are going to remove your clothing and mine, and we are going to have sexual intercourse at least once before you inevitably get yourself massacred."

* * *

* Gabriel, as any good person with eyes would in this situation, already knew perfectly well about Belial's attempts at seducing Uriel. He had even had a discussion with Belial on the matter. It went like this:

Gabriel: *shakes head, just looking at him*

Belial: Whaaat.

Gabriel: *just keeps shaking head* *walks off*

* * *

" _My Child, quirky yet kind, what is it you most desire?"_

_The obsidian-haired Cherub looked anxious as he replied, "I don't know! I want to bring Your Glory to everyone, but I also want to smite those who would oppose You, and yet I want to show your Love to everybody, and I want to embrace Your Creation… There's so many things to do, I can't decide!"_

_And so he was named Uriel, the Flame of God, and he was made the Bearer of the Lord's Presence and the Severer, for he had gotten the right of it: the Lord is Merciful, Powerful, Glorious, and Just, lest He be Crossed. He was Content, and the Lord was Pleased._

" _You_ ," Satan sneered, "you _traitor!"_

Belial did not have a chance to kneel, or explain himself, or even defend himself before his Lord had him by the throat, lifted into the air. "I _commanded_ you to _not_ heal that foppish oaf and yet you, you," he was so angry he was stammering now, "you _listened_ to the _angels!_ "

Disobedience hurt, as Belial knew it would. It always did, after all, even in instances of less-obvious "betrayal." All the while, Satan ranted and raved about how Belial would have been nothing if not for Satan, how could he do this to him, didn't he remember how much it hurt to Fell, didn't he know that Falling from Falling would hurt more?

It was odd for Belial. He didn't care whether he lived or died. He had finally come to realize, as he had defied Satan for Uriel, that he was… he… he was…

For a brief moment, that apathy passed because Satan was forced away from him, and there was someone in between them, but it was hard to see with all the blood in his eyes.

Had Belial been able to see, what he would have seen was Satan taking a step backwards because suddenly there was a very-angry looking Uriel between him and his prey. "Sssseverer," Satan hissed, regarding this new opponent warily, "I won't mind killing you firssst, but, you are not my target – Wait…" the angered hiss was gone as he looked around, "is that music?" *

Uriel stared back, cold and calculating; that he had gotten lost on the way back here did not detract from his serious demeanor. "Lucifer Morningstar, or shall I call ye Satan, the Adversary? Many have Fallen, but you the furthest."

"Oh, great. The speech," Satan drawled. "Speaking of the Fallen, is it just me or are you defending one of them yourself…? Oh Bel you sly dog! If I'd have known you managed such a successful seduction I might not have killed you!"

Belial inwardly scoffed.

"Silence!" Uriel barked, putting up a hand with the palm facing his opponent. "You are not Worthy to even Speak to those whom you betrayed all those years ago. _Retro Satana_."

It has been theorized that there are two Uriels. This is not true; Uriel is one being, one conscience, one identity. He just happens to feel very vehemently that cute things ought to be cuddled and Damned things ought to be smote. But say that those people were right, that Uriel is a fractured soul with one half being the Archangel of the Presence and the other half being the Archangel of Redemption. In this particular instance, the happy-go-lucky lovey Archangel of the Presence happens to be quite fond of the Archdemon Belial – he positively associates him with chocolate and bunnies**; as such, he would be unhappy to see his friend hurt. The cold, merciless Archangel of Redemption did not so much care about Belial but _did_ care that the Adversary, the Ruler of the Damned, was here; it was his sworn duty to destroy him, being as he was the irredeemable, non-repenting Emperor of Hell, the Betrayer of Heaven. If Uriel were two people, then half of him would be mad his friend had been hurt, and the other half would be mad that the Adversary had done the hurting.

Satan had managed to piss off both sides of Uriel.

Satan was completely surprised at this turn of events once said turn began beating the ever-living tar out of him.

It wasn't that Satan didn't know that Uriel was powerful. Although he had been rather forcefully ejected from Heaven by that utterly incompetent imbecile whose name oughtn't be mentioned ever, he had had enough consciousness to acknowledge his connection to the Presence being severed by Uriel. The fact that during the last attempt at Armageddon Mammon had been wiped from existence without effort by Uriel also hinted very strongly that the Severer had more power than was let on.

However, what felt like eternity ago, Satan had once been Lucifer, Uriel's eldest brother and boss. Not to mention that Uriel had taken on Satan one-on-one during the last Armageddon and had _lost_. Satan should have been easily winning!

But instead he found himself parrying a purple-flamed long sword while his very essence began dissolving in the face of Uriel's Presence-fueled onslaught. It _hurt_ , and any blow that Uriel did manage to land did far more damage than a regular hit ought to have.

Uriel successfully landed a kick to the stomach and Satan flew back, going through a wall and landing roughly in the next room. Uriel did not let up for a second, there with the sword ready to be shoved through Satan's skull. Focusing his own powers, Satan _pushed_ and as such caught Uriel off guard, knocking the Archangel back.

There, perfect. He was stunned, so now was the time to –

\- to –

"What!" he screamed, looking around. He looked to his wings, which had vanished from sight.

_His powers were gone._

Satan looked up abruptly. Where had they gone? Uriel had cut him off from the Presence, yes, but was incapable of cutting him off from – _Belial_.

Belial grinned. He was faintly glowing with the energy he had managed to steal from his (former) Boss. Satan's eyes widened in recognition.

"How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! How art thou cut down to the ground, which didst weaken the nations!" Uriel sneered, approaching the now-defenseless Satan, who hissed in response. "Make your peace with Daddy, Lucifer Sataniel***-"

Satan's already-wide eyes managed to widen further when he noticed there was a bolt sticking out of Uriel's neck. The Archangel wavered on his feet before collapsing.

No longer in danger himself, Satan felt a pang of weariness and collapsed from his injuries.

* * *

* Unlike before, this dramatic music was actually sung in Japanese and regarded the day of fate and a climactic battle between two powerful souls.

** Not chocolate bunnies (shudder.)

*** Actually, according to basically every reference on angelology ever, Satan's name pre-Fall was Sataniel (sometimes Satariel), not Lucifer. However, given how completely 'effable' that is, to name God's future Adversary "Adversary of God,"**** I just went with Lucifer instead. It sounds prettier anyway.

**** Baby Sataniel: Daddy, what does my name mean?

God: "Adversary of God."

Baby Sataniel: … But aren't You God? Why am I Your Adversary?

God: You'll find out some day. *pat pat*

* * *

"All right, this can't be right. You got eaten by a tiger," Crowley reminded his Inner Hastur as he continued his flight.

_And I'm immortal. What's your point? Because **my** point is that you still suck! You were actually an **angel,** Crawly! It's nice that some things haven't changed. Speaking of things…_

"He's gone," Crowley said a touch cynically.

_… Oh. Well I suppose he was so distraught by my death that –_

"Actually Inner Aziraphale hooked up with Inner Crowley," he said even more cynically.

Inner Hastur gasped. _He actually – with that loser – ugh. Well, I'll just go get my glorious revenge against **both** of them. It's not like I really cared about that poufy git anyway._

"They even have a daughter."

 _Sniff… sniffle… waaaaaaaah I've never been so depreeeeessed!_ Inner Hastur wailed, blowing his nose on an inner hanky. _I can't believe he left me for **you**! You of all demons! You're the worst demon ever! _

"Actually I was only the worst angel ever," Crowley said awkwardly, no longer feeling quite so smug and proud of himself. "But since you're so depressed, why don't you go take a nap or something? Maybe go-"

_No, no, no. The easiest way to make myself happy is to torment you. So, what else have you done lately that's stupid?_

Crowley sighed. "Would you like a list?" he asked, not in the mood to fight with him.

_Go for it. Whatever ammunition I can use to make your existence miserable._

"Well, first…"

* * *

Michael and Gabriel were laying next to each other on their backs, both staring at the ceiling in awe at what they had just done. Thousands of years of repression, all spent in one amazing couple of hours. Gabriel was pondering what this meant for them, for –

And then Michael spoke.

"So I guess what they say about big wingspans isn't true," he said with a dopey grin.

* * *

Across the world, Yellowstone Volcano exploded.

* * *

A category twelve hurricane developed off the north coast of Australia.

* * *

Six different nuclear reactors around the world melted down in unison, polluting the air and causing the radiation exposure of untold amounts of people.

"And it's not even my birthday," Pollution breathed with lights in his eyes.


	19. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because she is my ineffably awesome beta, the end of this chapter contains an homage to Quantum Witch's "Warp & Weft" :D

The Fangirl Layer of Hell had taken on a very thoughtful air as the Michael/Satan and Michael/Gabriel fangirls held a conference to discuss recent events.

"All right then," began the leader of the Michael/Gabriel sect, "so I think we've all noticed that both of our sides have equal validity." Her declaration was met with derisive snorting, but no one spoke out against her.

"Michael may be super sexy but he sure is a moron," mourned another Michael/Gabriel shipper. Many of her comrades let out heavy sighs.

"No, he just has no survival instincts," pointed out a Michael/Satan shipper.

"True."

"I have a radical idea not seen since _the Mists of Avalon_ or _Harry Potter_ ," said another fangirl very seriously.

Her fellows gasped.

Each word she said she enunciated very clearly. "Gabriel/Michael/Satan… OT3."

The girl next to her covered her mouth in shock. "A Michael sandwich," she breathed.

There was infighting, little squabbles, until one fangirl proudly stood. "But there is _no_ sexual tension between Gabriel and Satan! They would never be in bed with Michael at the same time! Instead, they would just pass him back and forth, like divorcees and their puppy!"

Another fangirl winced. "You relating him to a puppy just somehow made this _more_ scandalous, and considering we're talking slashy incest, that's saying something."

"The point still stands," the standing girl declared, although her ears were turning a bit pink.

"We should wait to see what happens," said the leader of the Michael/Satan sect. "Only time will tell which way Michael's heart goes."

A Molotov cocktail smashed through the window and landed on the meeting table. " _MICHAEL'S HEART BELONGS WITH THE BENTLEY!"_

"To arms, my sisters!" cried the leader, and another battle was waged.

* * *

Satan's head was throbbing as he forced himself into sitting up. He had been laid down on a cot in a dark room, and he was covered in bandages.

And powerless. Belial was going to suffer for eternity for this.

Purposefully, Satan stood up and planned on marching out of the room, only to be hit by a wave of dizziness. Blessed crap, Uriel had done a fair amount of damage to him. If Uriel was still alive, then Satan was going to hunt him down to assure that he and Belial could enjoy each other's company in the deepest pits of Hell for daring to harm _him._

Taking deep, steady breaths, Satan strode out of the room. He winced at the bright lights that assaulted him. He was now in a room filled with tubes, beakers and computers, which were being manned by three humans in white coats.

"And there's our new survivor friend!" said one cheerfully.

"You almost got killed by an angel, son," said another, older-looking one. "Are you all right now?"

Satan was completely baffled, but nodded. Why did these _humans_ care if he was alive or not? How bizarre. Unless…

"We're all in this together, I say," said a third.

Oh. _Oh_. They thought he was a human too!

Oh, this was _just perfect_. He needed to pass himself off as a human just long enough to build up enough energy to destroy them all and then annihilate Uriel. Surely he could be patient enough for _that_.

"My name is…" He thought about it – what was a human name? There were so bloody many of them, but he doubted any of them were named Lucifer, the name had something of an ominous connotation with them, and definitely no humans named Satan because none of them were good enough for it, but what about – "Michael." He grinned. "And I'm a complete and utter douche-bag."

The humans stared at him for this dramatic assertion.

"Yes… I'm an irredeemable monster, a moron of the highest caliber, and I'm only alive because my dad is a biased prick. I _suck_."

* * *

Across the world, what was left of Michael after Gabriel's beat-down sneezed.

* * *

"Well, Michael, you're actually a very lucky man," one scientist said, speaking slowly and assuming 'Michael' had a concussion*, "We saved you from an avenging angel. He had already slain a high-level demon."

So Belial was dead? Fair enough; he was replaceable. They were _all_ replaceable. "Yes," said Satan carefully, "you did, and I am. Where is this angel now?"

"We've got him locked up well, in a tube that neutralizes his powers," said another, "and so we _finally_ have someone whose tissues we can use to start crafting the creatures that can kill the demons as well!"

"It had to happen eventually," said the first, "considering the fact that we did catch an angel beforehand and it… didn't end up very well."

"Do I want to know?" Satan asked.

The three scientists he was speaking with all looked at each other. "His name was Bobiel," said the third warily. "We ended up just letting him go, because the things we made from him… somehow managed to be strong against _angels_ , which is… really quite backwards."

"And not very strong," admitted the second, "We're talking on a scale from one to ten, maybe a point-five."

"But definitely better than they were against demons," the third clarified.

The first said cheerfully, "But, from what we've seen, this new angel is a much higher-ranked and more powerful angel than Bobiel, and a better angel than Steve is a demon, which is utterly fantastic! Who knew we'd get so lucky?"

Oh, bugger. So _that_ was where Steve had gone. Satan didn't mind that, but this doctor had a point – a captured Uriel would lead to the creation of extremely powerful angelic-in-nature monsters that could do some major damage against his forces. "What if the angel died?" he asked, "Could you still use him?"

A third scientist answered, "Yes, we could, but we find outright murder to be a little immoral."

"Plus he's so _cute_ ," admitted the first.

"Big violet eyes," the second agreed, "I want to give him a hug, or maybe a stuffed animal. So _freaking adorable!_ "

"So long as the angel cooperates," the third scientist said a little harsher, glaring at his companions, "he'll live."

Well _shit_. So he couldn't just kill Uriel and get it over with; he'd have to actually free him. How marvelous. How bloody freaking typical. "Oh, that's good," he said cautiously, "So you are not going to kill him, which I, Michael, think is a good thing. Yes. Might we go see him? I would like to look upon him even though I am greatly terrified of him, given that he nearly killed me even though I am but a defenseless human."

* * *

* Yes he's the Prince of Lies, but in the line of convincing people to give him their souls. Subterfuge? Not exactly his thing. He has far too large of an ego to be good at subterfuge.

* * *

Uriel was curled up in a large glass tube, fighting to not cry. He was scared, and he was oh so lonely, and wouldn't someone come and rescue him? When he'd tried to escape, the strange tube he had woken up in had eaten up all his Presence, and it left him lightheaded and with the distinct feeling he'd been bad. He _hated_ being bad.

"I wanna go home," he whimpered, wrapping his arms around his legs.

Oh, this wouldn't do. He was so very depressed, and he wanted someone to snuggle with, and he was craving sweets (not that that was anything new). His lower lip trembled, and tears filled his large, gorgeous amethyst eyes.

The door to the odd room he was in opened, and Uriel perked up to see three men wearing white lab-coats enter the room, looking at him thoughtfully. Uriel couldn't contain a smile and he waved to his new friends. "Hi!" he exclaimed, standing up and walking to press against the glass of the tube, "I'm trapped in here and I can't get out! Please help me! I didn't mean to land in here, but sometimes these things happen, heehee, oops."

The three men looked at each other warily. From what Uriel could see, there were more people in the hallway. "We can't help you out," the first man said tentatively; the second looked very depressed now. The third didn't seem to care. "We need for you to cooperate with us."

"If you do, then we'll set you free," the second asserted, and received a glare from the third.

"Oh, yay! I bet I can help you. I like helping people. Well, sometimes Gabriel says that me being helpful is actually really _not_ helpful, but he's silly like that, and anyway Michael and Raphael never say anything like that, so maybe I am helpful."

"You're going to be very helpful," asserted the third. "Could you tell us your name?"

"My name's Uriel," he said proudly. "Or maybe it's Jacob. But I think it's Uriel."

"Ah, a name I finally recognize," said one fondly.

A different man walked in, holding a large book in his hands. He flipped through it. "Uriel, the Archangel of the Presence and of Redemption. Usually considered to be the Fourth Archangel, after Michael, Gabriel and Raphael. Described as being as pitiless as any demon."

"Everyone has bad days," Uriel said with a blush. "But that's so cool that book tells you who I am, and who my brothers are! That's pretty nifty. I wish I had a book that explained who all of _you_ were."

Satan vaguely considered explaining that the Presence made Uriel be happy and a bit high, and that the pitiless bit only came about once in awhile, but at the moment he was hiding in the hallway. It would serve him no purpose to have Uriel remember him, whether it was to declare his intention to murder him or to give him a hug. Either way it would really ruin Satan's disguise.

"Well, Uriel, if you want to help us," the first scientist said faux sweetly, "we'll need for you to give us one of your feathers."

Ah, that made sense. Feathers were very powerful reagents and could be used against the angel who owned them, but only provided you managed to get them off. Molted ones, sadly, didn't count. But Satan doubted even Uriel was stupid enough to take off and give them one of his own feathers.

He was right. Uriel gave them all a glare and huddled his wings closer to him. "I see what you did there," he said severely. "Friends don't ask friends to give up feathers. It's really not very nice of you at all."

"So you won't cooperate?" the first scientist asked, voice hard.

Uriel shook his head, curls bouncing.

"Fine. You'll be in that tube until you change your mind," he snapped, turning and walking out. His companions walked out after him, although none matched his anger.

Uriel pouted.

And frankly, so did Satan. He only had until Uriel finally caved to peer pressure, which could be _forever_ , or it could be within the day, depending. He decided to assume the latter, and thus began formulating a plan to break Uriel out.

* * *

Belial knew he was going to die. It was just a fact at this point. There was no way he could heal himself, and no angel would bother healing him. Satan had done a lot of damage in a short amount of time, and even the energy Belial had stolen from him had then rebelled against him, causing even _more_ damage. It was all gone now and would likely be returning to Satan some time soon, and then…

He was done. And he didn't care. What was the point anymore, anyway?

And then he began to hallucinate. Specifically, he began to have auditory hallucinations.

" _I gotta take a little time_ …" he barely heard, " _… a little time to think things over…"_

Well, this was odd. Was that music he heard? It was a decent distraction from the pain and the puddle of blood he was laying in now.

" _… I better read between the lines, in case I need it when I'm older…"_

Belial began to focus more on the words in order to figure out what song he was hearing, even as he wanted to chuckle. Him, an Archdemon of Hell, hallucinating a power ballad sung by angels on his death bed. What was the world coming to?

All of a sudden the sky opened up and a ray of light shone down upon him.

" _I wanna know what love is_ ," a Heavenly Chorus sang, _"I want you to show me! I wanna feel what love is! I know you can show me!"_

Belial laughed almost manically, coming to a horrible epiphany even as he lost consciousness.

" _I've got nowhere left to hide… it looks like love has finally found me…"_

* * *

In Heaven, Chamuel smiled. Really, the Four taking over Foreigner had done half of her job for her. Although maybe Celine Dion would have been preferable…

* * *

"And so you can imagine my consternation when it turned out that the book I had been given was actually a _third_ edition, not a first, and so I of course took it back, only to get into the argument with the publisher…"

Aziraphale was getting desperate. His father wasn't moving anymore, although there were faint traces of his Presence still there, so hope hadn't been lost yet. He had taken to softly telling him stories in hopes of comforting him, although he was fighting to keep his voice steady.

Unfortunately, it seemed as if there had been an angel versus demon fight elsewhere in the manor, which meant that perhaps healing wouldn't come, and Azazel had taken great pains to assure that no angel could cure him, and then what, oh he couldn't live with himself if his father died in his arms…!

There was a familiar essence getting closer and Aziraphale, cheeks stained with tears that he hadn't been aware were falling, sat up straight, stopped talking, and looked at the door.

"There you are," said Crowley, sauntering in as if he _wasn't clearly a demon again._

Aziraphale gasped at him. "Crowley! Crowley you're safe and you're _here_ and _my goodness why are you just standing there heal my father!"_

Crowley looked a bit let down, as if he had expected a parade or at least a round of applause, but then Raphael's condition finally registered in his brain and he quickly walked over, kneeling by Raphael and infusing the Archangel with demonic healing. He also said "shut up," but Aziraphale's curiosity at to whom he was speaking was short-lived.

The wounds started mending.

"Oh, thank goodness," Aziraphale whispered, watching in awe. "Oh, thank you, Crowley. Thank you, God. Thank you. _Thank you_."

Raphael's beautiful green eyes opened and he smiled at the two younger male-shaped-beings kneeling next to him. "My boys," he said fondly.

Aziraphale hugged Crowley, trembling with emotion. Crowley patted him on the back. "Azazel, I take it?" the recently-returned demon asked gruffly.

Raphael nodded as he sat up, Aziraphale letting go of Crowley to aid and hug him. "Yes, I rather underestimated him. But he's dead now, the poor misguided fool. Are you all right, Zizi?"

Aziraphale let out a shaky laugh. "Father dear, only you could come back from the brink of death and then ask if someone else was okay."

"You've got a cut on your face," Raphael said sternly, reaching up to heal it.

Aziraphale sighed good-naturedly.

"So is anyone else around? What's going on? I thought Uriel and Belial were with you?" Crowley asked.

"There was a fight, but I was rather distracted at the time," Aziraphale admitted. "It may have involved Uriel, although I can't imagine Belial turning on him. But things have been quite quiet since then."

"I ought to go find out what's going on," said Raphael, looking over his restored wings and giving them a cursory preening. "And you two dears need to catch up. Clearly you have quite a bit to discuss, yes?"

Crowley felt a little bit awed that Raphael didn't seem the least bit perturbed that he was a demon again. He had expected, at minimum, disappointment… "Well, I did find the location of the girl who's been leading Humanity," he admitted, looking at Aziraphale. "Care for a road trip?"

Aziraphale bit his lip, looking torn. Finally he gave a weak smile and placed a hand on Crowley's. "As much as I would love to, dear, I really don't wish to leave my father alone, no matter what he says. He obviously only just recovered… He really oughtn't go anywhere by himself, in case he relapses…"

Crowley nodded his understanding.

Raphael stood up, shaking out his wings and looking none the worse for wear. "Nonsense, sweetheart, I'm just fine now. I am the Healer, you know, and I'm more than capable of healing myself." He frowned a bit. "With a little help in this instance, of course. Thank you again, Crovey-lovey."

"You're welcome," Crowley replied, more than used to being referred to with all manner of cutesy nicknames. He looked up and scowled, and Aziraphale again had to wonder what he was listening to.*

"Well, if you're sure," Aziraphale said, relaxing slightly, "I suppose I don't want to let Crowley go anywhere alone. He's far more likely to get into trouble than you are."

"Not only that, but I'll be seeking out Uriel and Belial, so I won't be alone for very long," Raphael reminded him, leaning down and pressing a kiss to each of their foreheads. "You be good, dears, and do keep in touch? Crowley, I expect you to let me know if any harm befalls my baby. And Zizi, I'll be sure to let you know about your uncle. Ta ta!" With that he left, looking quite pleased, all things considered.

Aziraphale let out a sigh. "That was far too close for comfort, my dear."

"I'll say," Crowley muttered. "But at least it's evened up the score. We're three for three now, I think."

"What do you mean by that?" Aziraphale asked, standing up.

Crowley followed suit. "Well, all this mess started when you got nearly killed, so he's just… you know, trying to make you feel better. He does that."

"And what about you?" the angel asked him with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, you know, stabbed and cut up with holy symbols and then later shot with a bunch of blessed bullets. Apparently I really look like a demon."

"That you do," said Aziraphale fondly as they two started strolling to the exit. "And now you don't just look like one."

Crowley gave Aziraphale a searching look. Aziraphale smiled back. And so they walked on, hand in hand.

At least until Raphael was a safe distance away** and they dragged each other into a closet, frantically removing clothing.

* * *

* Inner Hastur had just said, "Who's a good boy? Whooo's a good boy, Crovey-wovey-dovey? Yooooou are, because yooooou suuuuuck!" It sparked an internal heated debate between the two demons as to who was the worst off.

** Of course Raphael knew exactly what they were doing, and merely sighed. From his point of view, it wasn't that he himself was some sort of expert at interrupting his son's carnal liaisons; rather, it was that Aziraphale and Crowley never seemed to stop having sex and if he ever wanted to see his son he had to interrupt them.

* * *

Almost… it was almost all over…

But was this what he really wanted… it was so hard to think… everything was so blurry… all the lines… there was no black and white, only gray…

The dying demon told himself sternly, _No, no being philosophical on your death bed, Belial. You're an uncaring demon who likes sex and sleeping, so act like one!_

Okay. Okay that's doable. Say, is it spelled "grey" or "gray"? And whose bright idea was that? Humans are stupid. Yes, they are stupid.

_That's better. Keep going with that._

Right. So are angels. They're stupid too. How can someone not know that _the Prince of Temptation_ was hitting on him for _thousands of years_? That's really stupid. And know what else is stupid? Demons. Yeah. Only a really stupid demon would hit on an angel for thousands of years when it's clear he's not interested.

 _Ouch_.

Okay, so vision… getting more blurry…

"Oooo Belial what happened to you?"

Great, more hallucinations. Is this one going to talk about love too?

Belial was vaguely aware of his head being moved onto a soft surface and then of cool fingers at his temples. There was light and he was rendered blind, although his pain was receding. When the light faded, he could see a worried-looking Raphael gazing down at him.

He tried his best to smirk. "Hey there ssssexy, how _y'_ doin'?" he managed to ask.

Raphael gave a long-suffering sigh. "I'm glad to see you're still alive and well enough to hit on me, Belial," he said professionally. "Please tell me what happened." As he spoke, he supported the Archdemon and bade him sit up.

Belial recounted the events as he saw them, conveniently leaving out any bits about Foreigner.

Raphael pursed his lips and looked indecisive. "Well, I would like to check on Michael; not that I don't trust you, dear, but you aren't _a_ healer much less _me_ , so I really feel like double-checking your work would be in his best interest. That being said, if what you saw was accurate, then Lucifer and Uriel are both somewhere in this building still, and really we ought to find them as soon as possible before they harm someone or are harmed themselves."

"We?" Belial echoed in barely-disguised disgust.

"Well of course, sweetheart. You're not really going to leave Uriel behind are you?" At Belial's incredulous expression, Raphael amended, "Not to mention that clearly Lucifer is quite upset with you, and you helping him out will most assuredly earn you back some clout. And not to toot my own horn, dear, but if either of them finds out you left me all alone in a manor full of personages wanting my untimely demise, well, I certainly won't be able to save you this time."

It was Belial's turn to give a long-suffering sigh. " _Fine_. But if anyone asks, you bribed me." Raphael reached into his robe and pulled out a piece of chocolate, holding it out. Belial took it and stuck it in his trouser pocket. "Let's get this over with."

* * *

When it ended as such things must, Crowley found himself staring at Aziraphale in shock. "Wasss it," he cleared his throat and tried again. "Was it just me, or was that way better than usual? And I say that with you not being in a human corporation, which is saying something."

Aziraphale gave an out-of-breath chuckle. "Well, I can think of a few reasons why that might be the case. My first is that, of course, absence makes the heart grow fonder." He instantly reached up to cover Crowley's mouth. "And no, I'm still not going to let you say anything involving genitalia in response."

"And there goes my night," Crowley said underneath Aziraphale's hand.

"Regardless, my other idea… Well, I can't help but wonder if this was a, an opposites-attract sort of scenario. You know, we've never made love as an angel and a demon.* Perhaps this is a result of that? You know, a ying and yang idea, black and white melding into gray."

Crowley looked thoughtful as he pondered that idea. "Maybe you have the right of it. But then again, maybe you don't. Of course, the only way to find out is through intense, repeated trials."

"Best to be scientific about it," Aziraphale said, his eyes darkening.

"Oh, _alwayssss_."

They started up again.

* * *

* As far as they knew. But there was their drunken wedding night, and they did wake up naked and entangled…


	20. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to Manchester Lost, which was a sequel to Good Omens. Humanity has declared war, and now Heaven and Hell's best and brightest much band together to -- oh dear.

Aziraphale and Crowley, after dressing each other, walked side by side while leaving the Manor. They were strolling far enough of a distance away so that they could take off without being spotted by the people they were leaving behind. "So you got the location of that young lady who has been mentoring Humanity," Aziraphale recapped thoughtfully. "Are we to go there now, do you think?"

Crowley nodded, sticking his hands in his pocket as Aziraphale placed one of his hands on Crowley's elbow. "Sounds about right. With her out of the picture, maybe they can stop holding out for so long. The new Antichrist may have the power, but she has the brains."

"Ah, that's a bit ironic," said Aziraphale, letting go of Crowley's arm and pulling out a large tartan umbrella, opening it up.

"Er," said Crowley, looking up; the clear sunrise was barely visible through the trees, and there wasn't even a cloud in the sky.

There was a loud thud, and a brick slid off Aziraphale's umbrella and landed on the floor.

Crowley paled. Aziraphale didn't look surprised.

_Thud thud thud thud THUDTHUDTHUDTHUD –_

A veritable rainstorm of bricks fell from the sky, all landing on Aziraphale's miracle-enhanced umbrella before sliding and hitting the floor around their feet. Crowley balked when he noticed they all had scrolls attached to them.

After the storm had ended, Aziraphale put his umbrella away. "Really, Hell's Commendation Department ought to get itself up-to-date," he said severely.

Crowley knelt and began looking over the ones he'd gotten. "'Commendation for starting the swine flu,'" he read, his eyebrow rising, "'Commendation for the invention of Mr. Clean's Magic Eraser'? 'Commendation for the popularization of free internet porn'?"

"I had no idea you had anything to do with 'Sex and the City,'" Aziraphale said, looking over another brick.

"Neither did I. Oh, look, I got about six commendations for not getting any commendations. Embracing sloth, you know."

Aziraphale sighed. "'Commendation for creating addicting online role-playing games'? Honestly, did you do any of these things?"

Crowley snorted.

 _Of course you didn't do any of these things, because yoooou suuuuuck!_ Inner Hastur crooned.

 _Find another insult or just keep quiet,_ Crowley thought back.

_You don't tell me what to do, Crawly, because I am a good demon, whereas you are a poor excuse for a demon!_

_… I'll take "you suck." It's way better than that._

_Fair enough. I've been out of practice for years, you know, and it's hard to think of these things off the top of your head._

"I'll take that as a no, then. But, well," Aziraphale awkwardly cleared his throat, "you really did save my father, and for that, I simply must-"

"Stop it. No thanks," Crowley said harshly, but he looked awfully uncomfortable about it.

Aziraphale smiled and took Crowley's elbow again, ignoring the fact that he still hadn't offered it. "As you wish, my dear. So how have you been feeling? I can't tell whether you're disappointed or not."

"I'm fine."

Aziraphale leaned into him. "Yes. I think you are. And, so long as I have any say about it, you'll continue to be that way."

Crowley glanced at him warily. "Don't you dare."

"Dare what?" the angel asked innocently.

"Start your internal plotting about taking on you-know-who by yourself once he figures out I'm back to being on his side. We both know how poorly _that_ will turn out."

"Perish the thought. My ideas were more geared towards how big I can make my eyes so I can get you four bodyguards. As if I'd really _need_ to, of course; my father is quite fond of you, you know. I dare say he thought I was going to die a bachelor."

Crowley felt embarrassed by that knowledge, even though Raphael was fond of most anyone. "Well, don't even think of that, because unless they're willing to go into Hell to save my dead arse _and_ somehow bring me back to life…"

"Oh, I know a certain Archangel who would be more than willing. Michael often complains that he's not allowed to just walk into Hell and start hitting things. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if _you_ weren't necessary for him to go down to save _your_ life."

"Mmm, yummy."

"I don't think we have time for lunch," Aziraphale said doubtfully.

"Huh?" asked Crowley.

" _Delicious._ "

"Quit talking about food," Aziraphale moaned.

"You're the one who brought it up…"

"Mmm, tastes like _angel_!"

Aziraphale turned and lightly smacked Crowley on the upper arm. "This is hardly the time or the place! Were you not paying attention to what we just did?"

"All right, what the crap, I didn't say that!"

The two stared at each other, and then turned around.

"That looks like a zombie horde," said Aziraphale, referring to the zombie horde staring at them ravenously.

"Ngk," said Crowley, also referring to the zombie horde.

"And demon," said another zombie in a raspy voice. "There'sss demon too. Mmm, delicious demon."

"Not much of demon," another said, sounding disappointed.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Crowley demanded of the zombies despite himself.

"Now now boys and girls," said an older-looking scientist who was standing amongst the zombies, "we aren't after these two. They're not the idea-stealers."

"Hungry, Papa," said yet another zombie, batting its eyes at him.

"Surely you can find-" Aziraphale began.

"Oh all right. Go ahead. But try to keep it clean, would you? You're still not great at tidying yourselves up after you eat."

The zombie horde ran at Aziraphale and Crowley, who turned and started sprinting away.

"Kids will be kids," Pestilence said fondly.

Aziraphale and Crowley, meanwhile, did not feel fondness as they ran through the forest, trying to avoid the trees and not trip over any roots.

"Oh dear oh dear oh dear oh dear," Aziraphale panted.

Crowley's face was grim as they ran together. "Cliff up ahead," he said tersely as they approached it.

"I don't suppose the zombies can fly-"

"No, but we can!"

"But I _can't_ fly!" Aziraphale cried as he skidded to a stop right at the edge of the cliff they had been running towards, "Father says I'm not old enough to fly yet, why won't you listen to me!"

Crowley did a double-take before deciding not to even bother wondering; he simply pushed Aziraphale off before hopping off himself. The two immortals fell off the side of the cliff, jumping out into the landscape, the tips of their wings brushing as they spread them together.

"Ah well, you'll find something else," Pestilence said apologetically.

The zombies appeared to stop, and yet they were fairly obviously still moving.

"Stop it," he said a little firmer.

"Oh crap," said a zombie as it and its friends began slipping and sliding all over the ground before they all _careened off the cliff_.

Understandably, Pestilence was utterly in shock as his entire army fell off the cliff, tumbling down into the river below.

"Um," he said aloud, "What just…?" As it began to slowly dawn on him, he collapsed to his knees, entirely too distraught to stay standing.

Pollution, concealed behind a tree, smiled superiorly. "Next time stay in retirement," he said sweetly, turning and walking away as stealthily as he had appeared. As fond as he was of plastic and smog, really oil was his favourite, given how _slippery_ it was.

" _WE NEVER EVEN GOT TO REENACT THE THRILLER VIDEO!"_ Pestilence wailed at the top of his lungs. It wasn't very loud, considering the way his lungs had been wracked by disease over the millennia, but it got the point across.

* * *

"All right, now let's sing it together," Uriel cooed.

"I don't know about this," said Steve the demon, who was in a similarly-styled tube next to Uriel's, "After all, I'm a demon, so things that make me happy are things that are my least-favourite things."

"That makes no sense," said the security guard, whose name was Thomas Deisenburger.

"I know," Steve said sadly.

"We'll make it up as we go along," Uriel said primly, lifting his hands up to begin conducting.

The three unlikely friends began singing.

" _Not being stepped on, or getting smittens_ ," Steve began. It should be noted that he was using an incorrect past tense of "smite," as opposed to worry about whether or not he would grow fond of someone.

" _Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens,_ " the guard sang.

Uriel pouted and the song abruptly stopped. "You can't just use the words," he complained, "You have to sing about what really makes you happy. It's cheating otherwise."

Deisenburger blushed faintly as he admitted, "I really love mittens, and I have a collection of copper kettles at home."

His two immortal companions stared at him.

"Er," said Steve.

"What a pansy," Uriel scoffed, earning confused looks from his two companions given the obvious pot and kettle comparison. Of course, in Uriel's mind he made muffins, not cupcakes, used six swords and was over six feet tall. "Now then, Steve, it's your line again."

"Why is it _my_ line?" Steve complained.

"Sing it before I step on your head."

Steve gave a great sigh and the song started up again.

" _Too-salted French fries cut up into strings_ ," Steve voiced uncertainly.

" _These are a few of my favourite things_!" all three sang together.

Uriel, beaming and conducting, supplied, " _Horned and winged ponies and fruit-flavoured strudels…_ "

" _Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles!"_ Deisenburger sang proudly.

The music stopped yet again.

"You are a filthy liar!" Uriel accused.

Deisenburger held up his arms and waved them defensively. "No, really! I love the sound of doorbells because they signify I'm getting a new gift, or possibly going to be seeing my beloved family again! And my favourite part of Christmas is the beautiful sound of sleigh bells in the city square! And mmm, schnitzel with noodles is one of my favourite foods. Can't go wrong with schnitzel with noodles!"

" _Not being tortured so I don't lose my wings,"_ Steve sang.

Uriel's head snapped to look back at Steve. "I don't recall starting the song up again," he said bitterly.

"Sorry," the demon apologized, looking around for somewhere to hide.

The angel cleared his throat and the music started up again.

" _Not being tortured so I don't lose my wings_ ," Steve sang again.

" _These are a few of my favourite things_!"

" _Tormenting infidels with thirty-six lashes_ ," Uriel sang. Steve looked like he wanted to cry.

" _Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes_!" Deisenburger chimed in.

The music stopped yet again. "I give up! I'd smite you both if I had my powers," Uriel said with a choked voice, wrapping himself in his wings and trying ineffectively to hide in his science tube.

"Oh, and I was having so much fun," Deisenburger pouted.

* * *

Satan began walking around the compound, trying to find some way to free Uriel from his cage. Luckily for him none of the humans even considered that Satan, or "Michael" as he was now called, might not be on their side. Unluckily, however, he was still having absolutely no luck finding anything that would do him any good.

"Oh, there's my shining starlight!" cooed a happy voice and a moment later Satan had been hugged from behind. For anyone else in Creation, Satan would have flailed about and then foully destroyed them; however, for Raphael, he merely sighed.

"Hello, Raphael. I see Azazel didn't kill you."

Raphael moved around him and pinched Satan's nose. "No, he did not, although he did try. Such an odd thing, really, although I regret to inform you that he hurt my Zizi and so I wiped him from Existence."

"Mental note," Satan muttered. He neglected to remind Raphael of the time that _he_ had almost killed 'Zizi,' considering Raphael would easily win that fight at the moment.

"Oh, but I did find your lost little sheep Belial and saved him," Raphael said cheerfully, pointing behind Satan. He turned and glared at Belial, barely resisting the urge to snarl in rage.

"Traitor, you will rue the day you-"

Raphael cuffed his ears.

"Ow! Stop it! I'm _older_ than you so you can't do this to me!"

"You may be my elder brother but you've never acted like it. Killing your subordinates is bad business, Lucifer love, and I'll have none if it while I'm here. Now then, have you seen Uriel? That silly goose likely got himself lost again and really-"

"He'ssss been captured. I've been trying to figure out how to free him, becausssse right now he'ssss a danger to my forces," Satan snarled, comforting himself with the knowledge that if he had his powers he'd destroy Raphael for this insolence.*

Raphael frowned. "That's not what's important, Starlight, and you know it. Right now _he_ is in danger. Please take me to him so I can at least cheer him up. He's likely to be dreadfully lonely."

* * *

* This was a lie. Raphael was the closest that Satan had to liking someone.

* * *

Uriel simply couldn't stop wibbling. He was so sad and cold and tired and lonely and he really wanted to go home now. Singing hadn't helped at all; in fact, it had made things _worse_ , which was against everything that Heaven had taught him. He did feel a bit better that Steve looked miserable too, and Deisenburger looked sad at Uriel's sadness. Misery loves company.

"I miss my Daddy," Uriel admitted sadly.

"I don't," said Steve snidely. Uriel didn't even have the energy to glare at him.

"So you're an Archangel of the Presence, right?" Deisenburger asked soothingly, "That means you're really close to God, right? So if we cut you off from your powers, then we cut you off from God. So that's why you're so sad."

Uriel nodded. "I miss my Daddy," he said again. "And I miss Michael, and Gabriel, and Raphy. I miss Belbel. I even miss little Zizi. I don't miss Chamuel. She can go jump off a cliff or something, because she's trying to steal my Raphy."

"Awww, I'm sure you'll see them all soon, except for, um, Chamuel," Deisenburger said sweetly before he passed out. Uriel was completely confused by this until he received visitors and then understood that Raphael had put this man to sleep.

"Uriel my dear!" Raphael exclaimed, looking joyful.

"Raphy!" Uriel squealed, standing up, "Lucifer! Belbel! Oh I'm so happy to see all of you I'm stuck in here and so sad and I really want to go home now oh _please_ let me out, I've learned my lesson I promise!"

"Oh Uriel love you're not in trouble!" Raphael said sweetly, gesturing for Satan and Belial to start looking around the room for some way to free him. "In fact, _I_ ought to be in trouble for ever letting this happen to you!" The redheaded Archangel walked up and placed his hand on the outside of the tube; Uriel mimicked him, pressing his hand against Raphael's.

"Oh Raphy, you're never in trouble!"

"They're so painful to listen to," Satan muttered to Belial, who had to nod in agreement.

"Um, hello Lord Emperor Satan," Steve ventured from his own tube. "Um, the tube release system is at the very end of the row of computers here, and, um, please let me out too."

"Who are you?" Satan asked him before remembering himself and looking at Belial. "Belial, tell me who that is."

Belial made a motion of stomping with his foot. Satan and Belial both snickered.

"Never mind, leave me in here," Steve muttered.

"Sure," said Satan, striding down to the end of the row of computers and beginning to press buttons at random.

The glass surrounding Uriel and Steve exploded outwards in little shards. Raphael instinctively threw up personal shields around everyone so that the large shards of glass bounced off them and were deflected into the computers, causing them to short out and have mini explosions of their own.

And then an alarm went off.

"I believe this is our cue to run," Uriel said, looking worried.

"Yes it is," Raphael said tersely, grabbing Uriel's hand and running out the door. Satan, Belial and Steve followed quickly behind.

* * *

Evilosoth the Destroyer, Conqueror of Worlds had just been declared the Grand Emperor of what was now called the Big Continent, despite the fact it consisted of three; Europe, Asia, and Africa. He had been gifted with an enormous airship crafted by his human servants, large enough to ferry his army across the ocean to begin the onslaught against North and South Americas. Although no one suggested it, he also planned on going to Antarctica, but that was for pleasure.*

Australia was not on the itinerary.

In the furthest corner of his audience, there were six figures standing together, slightly apart from the festivities and none looking happy. In fact, the sixth was looking very concerned, while his five companions looked confused.

"Thi' seems like a bad thing if you ask me," said the sixth. "Loike everyone's gone all mad."

"Who are you?" asked Adam.

"M' name's Skuzz," said the middle-aged man standing with the Them and Jesus, "Former biker gang member, Former Other Biker of the 'pocalypse, former Ninja Turtle, current Witchfinder General. I'm an expert at matters supernatural, and this is very suspicious if'n yer askin' me. You all came 'ere to see 'im talk too, I take it? Nasty lookin' bugger 'e is, wiff his big armor 'n' giant sword."

"He looks _awesome_!" Brian protested. "Really, he's a way cooler Antichrist than Adam ever was."

"Hey!"

"Well I can' say I agree wif ya," Skuzz admitted, "seein' as I never met this Adam bloke. But I reckon this one looks like a right evil bastard."

"Do you have any more insight beyond 'this guy is clearly evil'?" Pepper asked derisively. "Because really, even a blind person could tell that much. Heck, even someone blind, deaf and wrapped in cling film could tell that much!"

Skuzz looked appropriately embarrassed. "Is that gonna be a problem? I mean, I wanna join yer gang – you all seem like gangish sorts, 'specially you." He gestured to Jesus who was wearing a black leather leotard, a black leather jacket and black knee-high boots; the entire ensemble was studded with diamonds. Her hair was unadorned. "But I don' really know what's goin' on beyond the fact that this guy ain't no witch."

"That's a double negative," Wensleydale informed him.

"Wot?"

"You just said he is a witch."

"What makes you think he's a witch?" Brian quoted, quietly enough so that no one would feel it necessary to hit him.

"But I said he ain't no-"

"Anyhow," Jesus interjected, adjusting her designer sunglasses, "you've seen for yourself what we're up against. A guy with an army who is himself an army, and we have to get fairly close to him. Still feeling like you want to beat him up?"

None of the Them looked excited about that.

"So I'm really starting to feel like I kinda blew my opportunity," Adam admitted. "I mean, not that I'm thinkin' I should have destroyed the world, but I could have pulled off the giant suit of armor and the huge sword. That would have been pretty brilliant, in retrospect, especially if that's the only thing I'd changed. Goin' to Parliament meetings in a big suit of armor? That would have been just fantastic."

"And that flesh-eating horse he had with him? Yeah, he'd beat Dog," Brian admitted. Once Brian found out that Dog was a hellhound, he had constantly badgered Adam to let Dog become the vicious hell beast he was on the inside; however, Adam had always refused, and Dog had started whizzing on Brian's bed. This continued to happen even in Hell, where Dog continued to look like a terrier and Brian once again lived in Adam's basement.

"I could take him, if he didn't have that army," Pepper said bitterly. "Stupid Antichrist charisma. Like he needs to have everyone follow him! He could probably end the world all on his lonesome."

"What I noticed, though," Adam mused, "was that none of the Horsepersons are with him. And quit lookin' so eager, Skuzz, you're not going to ever join them."

Skuzz pouted, quelling his optimism.

"My point bein' that they're not workin' with him, though I don't know why they wouldn' be." Adam frowned. "Worse, I don' know if they'd talk t' me now, or even if I'd survive if they did. I don't have any powers up here and they definitely do."

Jesus nodded. "Good point, though. I'll try to get in contact with some of the Horsepersons, one way or another, and see if they have any input. I mean, maybe there's something faulty about him that makes them not have to follow him? Or maybe it's not really the End and… I don't know. But regardless, I just tested my influence, to see if I could even do anything to him, and I _might_ be able to get you your powers back, Adam, but only at a close distance, and if he were distracted." She sighed, looking disappointed in herself. Adam patted her on the shoulder. "So maybe you won't have to give him a hug. But still…"

"Has he spoken at all?" Wensleydale asked suddenly.

Skuzz shook his head. "Nope. Not a word. Creepy an' suspicious if ya ask me."

Wensleydale nodded. "Maybe the Horsepersons aren't allying themselves with him because he doesn't want them around. He doesn't seem like a very personable fellow, although I suppose humans are still drawn to him because of the Antichrist charisma."

"He's just really cool," Brian whined. Adam hit him on the arm, clearing his throat pointedly. "But he never let me live in his basement," Brian muttered, obviously speaking from some sort of script, "or do any of the other nice things that Adam has done for me over the years, which is why Adam was clearly the better Antichrist and will always be better."

"All right, if he's going to America, we're going to have to follow him. Do any of you have a boat or a plane we can use?" Adam asked, trying to get his enthusiasm back.

"Dear, you had best believe I have a private jet," Jesus purred.

* * *

* Even soulless monsters bent on destruction like penguins.

* * *

Uriel, Belial, Raphael, Satan and Steve sprinted through the winding hallways, although Raphael had to hold Uriel's hand so he didn't trip. Had he been in a better frame of mind at the moment, Satan would have offered to hold Steve's hand so he didn't trip and have someone step on his head, but he was a little busy running, and anyway Steve looked like he might cry.

The alarms were incredibly loud, so none of them heard the creature chasing them; instead, they all _felt_ it. Thump-thump-THUMPTHUMPTHUMP -

"We're all going to die!" Uriel wailed.

Suddenly Belial launched forward, tackling Uriel and rolling out of the way while dragging Raphael with him. Mere seconds later, an incredibly large four-legged mammoth rampaged past before sliding to a stop, turning around and hissing at the escapees. It bore a strong resemblance to one of the big cats although it was in fact bigger and had soft, silky white fur.

Satan had jumped out of the way and avoided getting hit. Steve had as well, although he had unfortunately urinated himself in terror during the process.

"Awww it's so cute," Uriel giggled, although he was still clinging to Belial. "It's jus' a big ol' kitty cat!"

"It's… it's sort of… sort of angelic, ish, except backwards?" Raphael murmured, standing up and holding onto his sword tightly. "It's so odd to describe!"

Satan strode forward and stood next to Raphael as the creature remained crouched and hissing. "Apparently Bobiel got captured at some point. This is the result."

Of course Satan remembered Bobiel. How could he forget the angel who had once, before the Fall, had a nosebleed all over the Second's pristine angelic robes and then had run off in tears?

Raphael gave a tired sigh. "Oh, _Bobiel_. Well in that case we're likely not in any danger. Come along, dears."

The angel monster hissed again, its tail lashing.

"Bad kitty!" Raphael said imperiously.

The angel monster started crying.

The two angels and three demons walked right past it.

Satan suddenly smirked, sensing the return of his powers, and he turned and destroyed the cat monster effortlessly. His companions merely sighed at him showing off, so they didn't see him grinning as he plucked one of his newly-returned feathers, removed any power it might have over him, and casually dropped it as they left the building. He debated on killing Belial for taking them in the first place, but refrained because the last thing he needed was to start another fight with Uriel. Belial could wait.

While Satan did this, Uriel turned to smile at Belial while Raphael fussed over Steve. "I know what I shall do," Uriel said sweetly. "You are to aid and defend me as I rejoin Lucifer to God during the Final Battle. It is to be a birthday gift for Daddy. He will be pleased."

"Er," said Belial, "I don't think either of them would like that idea…" Uriel glared at him. Belial put up his hands in surrender. "Never mind. I think they'll both love it."

There were two soft beams of light, and Michael and Gabriel descended together. Michael was covered in gashes and bruises, and Gabriel looked quite serene. "It's good to see you two well," the latter Archangel said softly, eyes showing his joy at seeing his two brothers unharmed.

"Oh, Gabriel, did you have to hurt Michael so much?" Raphael demanded although there was no venom in his words as he started healing Michael.

"Yes," said Gabriel.

Michael merely laughed nervously. "Yep," he said. "And it should be noted…" Michael looked right at the approaching Satan as he said this, "… that Gabriel hurt me a heck of a lot more than Lulu did."

"First of all, my name isn't Lulu. Second of all, if I had to sleep with you I would probably destroy you much more painfully, too."

Michael stuck out his tongue. Satan, although he would never admit it, did the same.

"We're not having sexual intercourse," anymore, "if that's what you're suggesting, Lucifer, so I suggest you close your mouth before I rip out your tongue. Now then, what do we do now?" Gabriel asked loudly, "I take it this facility ought to be destroyed, and yet there is also a mad Antichrist on the loose."

"Well, actually, we did a lot of damage to their machinery while we were inside there," Raphael informed him, "so really at this point we need to reconvene and find out how everyone is doing."

Michael raised his hand. "Can I go fight the Antichrist pl-ea-se?"

"No!" Satan protested, "I'm going to!"

"No, me!"

"No, me!"

"Oh for the love of – _just go together,"_ Gabriel hissed.

The twins stared at each other.

"I'll deign to go with you," Satan said cautiously, "but I can't promise I won't kill you in one of your moments of weakness."

"I am more than ready to start Round Four, so just try me, Lulu."

"Grrrrr…"

"Bye bye, boys," Raphael said sweetly, waving. Taking the hint, Michael and Satan stalked off, purposefully bumping into each other.

The first thing Michael did when they were out of sight was to miracle the Bentley back to him. "Hello again, car," he said fondly, patting the Bentley on the hood. The vehicle purred in response. "Do you want to go for a ride?"

"Are you talking to a car?" Satan asked in derision.

Michael popped in the driver's seat.

"Excuse me, but _I_ am going to be driving!"

Michael blew him a raspberry and started the car up. Satan huffed and sat in the passenger seat. "You may chauffer me now, but never forget that your soul will be tormented for eternity," the Emperor of Hell said gruffly, staring out the window.

"Yeah yeah sure." Michael hit the gas pedal and the Bentley carried them off.

"The Antichrist is some place south of that incredibly large American city," Satan said disinterestedly, "and put on the radio so that I don't have to listen to you speak."

"You're the one who won't shut up, Lulu."

"My name is not-"

Michael punched the radio dial.

" _Rah-rah-ah-ah-aaah! Roma-roma-mamaa! Ga-ga-ooh-la-la! Want your bad romance!"_

* * *

"Actually, now that I have time to think about it, I do not think it wise that Michael and Lucifer go together anywhere alone," Gabriel blurted, cheekbones turning a telling shade of pink. "The two of them together have enough common sense to maybe fill a teaspoon and there is a very slim chance that we will ever see either of them again."

"Gabriel," Belial said with a smirk, "are you _jealous?_ "

"What? Of course not. Would I have nearly destroyed him if I felt anything for him?" Gabriel demanded. He brandished the Commendation he had received for wiping out two-thirds of Earth's population after Michael had infuriated him. "And even if I felt anything for that ox, I certainly would have nothing to fear from his going with _Lucifer_ of all beings."

* * *

" _I want your ugly, I want your disease, I want your everything as long as it's free; I want your love,_ " Satan sang. " _Love love love I want your love_!"

" _I want your drama, the touch of your hand, I want your leather-studded kiss in the sand; I want your love_ ," Michael sang back, " _Love love love I want your love_!"

* * *

"It's certainly not as if the fangirls were right, either about my aggression with him being sexual tension and that their rivalry is _also_ born of sexual tension," Gabriel continued matter-of-factly.

* * *

" _I want your lovin' and I want your revenge! You and me could write a bad romance_!" the two sang together in perfect harmony, " _I want your love and all your lovers' revenge! You and me could write a bad romance! Oh-oh-oh-oh-ohhhhhh! Caught in a bad romance!"_

* * *

"The idea is ludicrous. Not everything is sexual in nature, you know, especially not with angels, given that we are sexless."

Raphael, Uriel, Belial and Steve just stared at him.

"The sexless bit is just an excuse you all made up as a cop-out," Belial muttered with an eye-roll. "Besides, those two _are_ sexually attracted to each other, if only because they both look similar and are incredibly narcissistic. Of course they have the history too, but still, the twin thing has a lot to do with it."

* * *

"' _CAUSE I'M A FREAK BITCH, BABY!"_   Satan shouted at the top of his lungs.

Michael didn't even bother to correct him. Not only was this too much fun, but "freak" was a much better adjective to describe Satan than "free."

* * *

"I need something to drink," said Gabriel stiffly, Ascending.

* * *

" _I want your love and I want your revenge, I want your love, I don't wanna be friends!"_  Satan sang.

" _Je veux ton amour, et je veux ton revenge, je veux ton amour, I don't want to be friends!"_ Michael sang back.

And the Bentley seethed with jealousy, considering it had chosen that song for it and Michael, not  _Satan_ and Michael, that bastard!

* * *

The fangirls of Hell were, of course, watching these events with interest.

"Well well well," said one with a rather sadistic smile, "it looks as if Gabriel is denying their relationship and Satan is moving on in."

"Oh come on, who could resist singing along with the radio?" snapped back a Michael/Gabriel shipper. "That's _all_ that was."

"I want your lovin' and I want your revenge…"

 _"I'll show you 'bad romance'!"_ screamed another fangirl, and the never-ending war started up once more.


	21. Chapter Nineteen

The Bentley touched down off the coast of Virginia, easily going up the sand and catching on to a road. "You're a horrid driver," Satan muttered.

Michael snickered. "A you're such a back-seat driver, you know that? I'm never going on a real road-trip with you, never ever. You haven't stopped complaining the entire time."

"I need to complain because you're that bad of a driver!"

"You two are hilarious," War chimed in from the backseat, "We should start a sitcom together. I have no idea what we'd call it, but it would be _great_ , especially if we factor in my step-mommy Gabriel!"

The two turned to look into the backseat, blinking at her. "Oh, hey baby girl!" Michael cooed, "Welcome to the trip! We would have invited you but-"

"-we have taste," Satan drawled, facing front again.

War stuck out her tongue at him. "You can admit it, you missed me, Mommy," she said fondly. "And you know how much I _love_ when you antagonize me. And I love antagonizing you! This is the best family ever."

Satan sighed. "I am not your mother," he said gruffly.

Michael, however, was grinning broadly. "So are you going to help us take down the Antichrist? Maybe go get ice cream afterwards? Have a nice family outing?"

"Why else would I be here?" she replied with a feral grin. "Slaughter and ice cream."

"That's our girl," Michael said to Satan fondly.

"There are some truths I'm willing to accept, but the fact that I am the mother to anything is not one of them, and that you are the father even less so."

"Don't deny our looooooove," Michael crooned.

War grinned in the back seat, amused that they had switched roles; it seemed like only yesterday to her that Satan had been taunting Michael about their love child. It was so nice that she could inspire arguments from any angle, especially among her own family. It made her feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside. "So what's the game plan?"

"Walk up and hit," said Michael.

"Possibly devour," Satan added.

War paused thoughtfully. "Hey, isn't the Antichrist my half-brother, now that I think about it?"

"Oh would you knock it off?" Satan muttered.

"Fratricide," said Michael, shooting a mischievous little smirk at Satan.  "Awesome."

"I approve of fratricide," he growled back.

War giggled and then laughed, happy to be home.

* * *

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Aziraphale asked, looking up at the large office building that allegedly housed a defunct food corporation. "It seems almost abandoned; any cars are parked far away."

"It all matches," Crowley said, looking at his printout again, "The address, the building location. I guess people park far away so they don't draw attention to the building. Anyhow, their leader apparently has her office on the third floor. Suite C, to be more specific."

Aziraphale pouted. "Well that hardly has any significance; that I can think of, anyway."

"Maybe that's the point?" Crowley suggested as they walked inside without any resistance – there weren't any people around, which Aziraphale found suspicious but he wasn't going to question their luck – and started walking up the stairs, "You know, to throw off your lot with your fondness of over-thinking and need for symbolism."

"Oh, and your side is _so_ much better." Both of them at least silently admitted how refreshing it was to talk about "your side" and how inane it all was again. There had been quite a few awkward moments in conversations over the years when they would realize that they had just insulted their own side and had to wait in fear while hoping they weren't about to get smote.

"The difference is _humans_ made up half of our symbols. Like any of us give a crap about inverted pentagrams? 'Oh look, that star is upside down, I want to go give magic powers to the person wearing it!'"

Aziraphale snorted as they made it to the second floor and continued on up. "You know they always meant well. Misguided, yes, but they tried to please us. Well, most of them, at least most of the time."

Crowley sighed. "Angel, we're about to kill one of their leaders, so stop espousing their virtues, would you? This is awkward enough as it is." Crowley frowned, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Yeah," he said nervously, "Listen, when we get to the room, let me do the work, okay?"

Aziraphale's frown matched his. "I won't be twiddling my thumbs, if that's what you mean."

"No," he replied, "I just mean… well, you like humans more than I do right now, I guess. And this is kind of… screwing them over. And… you've never even hurt a human, have you?"

Aziraphale's scowl finally surpassed Crowley's. "I see," he said icily.

"Don't give me that tone," Crowley protested, "I'm just being sensible. You're an advocate of sensibility, right?"

"You've never… killed anyone before, though," the angel said softly. "Demon or no, you've always avoided it."

Crowley didn't correct him. There were plenty of things Aziraphale was willing to forgive, but Crowley wasn't sure if murderous vengeance was on that list and frankly he didn't want to find out. "Yes, but I've already Fallen. Twice."

"Holy smiting, dear."

"Aziraphale, please.

Aziraphale bit his lower lip. He was not very good at refusing Crowley when he used the 'p' word. "If it would make you feel better," he said at length.

Crowley nodded. Although his shades hid his eyes, Aziraphale knew well enough by now that he was silently thanking him. Aziraphale wanted to point out what a _dear_ he was, but refrained because this situation was awkward enough already.

Aziraphale miracled a coat over his wings, which hid them only a bit and made him look like he had a hunchback. "It looks like it's down the hall. Shall we be off?"

Crowley nodded again, determinedly, and stepped out of the stairwell and sauntered down the hall. Aziraphale walked next to him, nervously glancing about. "Oh, how _eerie_ , there's no one _here!_ " he whispered, looking through doors into empty rooms lined with cubicles.

"Either the address I was given was wrong, or they're very good at hiding," Crowley muttered back, opening the door to the office marked Suite C.

There was a young woman sitting in the office, giving them a knowing smile. "You have finally arrived. You are late, you know."

Crowley waved his hand to bend her mind, trying to make this interrogation as quick as possible. "What do you mean, we're late?" he demanded, arms crossed over his chest. He was definitely piqued; this woman was basically _ruling_ humankind, and they were _winning_ , so who knew what she was capable of? Even if she was a _lot_ younger than he had figured her to be.

"You should have been here ten minutes ago," she said, standing up. Now that she was eye-level, he could see it in her eyes, an old look, a _sad_ look, and a definite aware look. Whatever he'd done hadn't worked. "But that is quite all right, I suppose. I can forgive you this transgression. Ten minutes, ten hours, it does not really matter to you, does it? Time means nothing to your kind. It never has." Abruptly her eyes filled with tears and she looked away.

"I'm… sorry," Aziraphale said tentatively.

"No, no you are not, and that is all right too. You cannot help who you are, just as I cannot help who I am, and… I am just so, so sorry that it came down to this. You were so nice to me, to _us_ ,but you chose the wrong side this time."

Aziraphale looked at her more intently. "You go by Hazel now, correct? With a long surname?"

She nodded.

"Ah. Very creative, my dear. It's an anagram, now that I think of it, but I never guessed it might be you. But, now that I see you… yes, you assuredly have your mother's bearing, and your father's hair."

"Hm?" asked Crowley.

"Does your mother even know you're here?"

She smiled. "My mother is on a book tour. She hasn't got a clue what I'm up to, no, but she's safe for the time being."

"Angel?"

"Don't you recognize your own goddaughter?" Aziraphale chided him gently. "I know it hasn't been so long since we saw her, but we're used to humans changing drastically in a short amount of time."

Crowley regarded the woman again. "Aziraphale Pulsifer," he said, eyebrows shooting up. He was thankful for his shades to hide the surprise in his eyes.

She looked almost proud. "You do remember me, how sweet," she said, smiling brightly, "You used to tell my brother and me stories, and babysit so my parents could go out and about. It is nice to see you both again even if the circumstances are not so good."

" _You're_ the one trying to wipe our sides out?" Crowley demanded incredulously.

She chuckled. "It is only fair. We are just being proactive for once. It is not fair for you two considering you tried to save us, but if Heaven's official stance is that Earth has to be wiped out eventually, who am I to sit back and wait for it to come, even if it means my godparents end up taken out in the crossfire? I am sure that Heaven has a few humans they approve of that they shall be losing as well. This is, after all, a war."

Aziraphale dithered, looking back and forth between his namesake and his husband. "Surely this can be resolved peacefully," he said hopelessly. "Can't we all just go back home, maybe have some cocoa and talk it out?"

Aziraphale2 laughed outright at that. "Oh, you really haven't changed at all. Is that not a descriptor of your side – unchanging? Well, although I don't know if my efforts will have helped at all, I do hope I changed it a bit."

"That brings up a good point; how did you manage to pull off everything?" Crowley murmured. "You were working before Adam even died, so you must never have forgotten the other Armageddons. How? Did Adam overlook you, or did you get some of your mom's psychic stuff, or what?"

"You have no idea how tempted I am to say that it is because of that fairy tale you told me and my brother when we were much younger."

"Oh, right," Aziraphale murmured, looking a bit sheepish.

"But, I had seen the first one many, many years ago, and I was alive for the second."

"Wait, what?" Crowley asked, now perplexed.

"What do you mean, you saw the first one?" Aziraphale demanded.

She smiled innocently. "Well, I saw most of it, although I didn't quite understand it at the time. Dear Anathema explained the rest to me."

Aziraphale's eyes widened as he finally understood.

"Agnes," he whispered.

"My old name," she said with a smile.

Anathema Device had been as close to being Agnes Nutter as genetic drift would allow. Aziraphale Pulsifer was even closer.

"Huh? The old witch with the book you loved so much?" Crowley asked, "Does that mean that Bentley's the coot with the backwards book?"

Agnes Nutter chuckled. "Yes, although dear Agostino doesn't remember any details of his past life, like I do. Really, I couldn't help but chuckle when he became, of all things, a tabloid journalist. 'Tis awfully fitting."

Crowley was disappointed that Aziraphale's namesake was in fact a great prophetess, while _his_ namesake was a whiny brat and gossip monger. He sighed and decided it was just a coincidence.

"You – you," Aziraphale stuttered, definitely not seeing any humour here, "could see everything, you knew what was going to happen, so obviously you would be able to coordinate things. And, and, and you… you died. You knew. You prepared for it." He took Crowley's elbow and backed up.

"Gunpowder and nails," she said with a nod.

"So you're-"

"Prepared." She smiled. "The movement will be just fine without me, I'm sure, and I've passed on what needs to be passed on to my subordinates. You won't get any information out of here. Goodbye."

Aziraphale yanked Crowley with him as he started running.

Crowley could feel it now, not just in the sense that there was an intense heat from behind him coming after them quickly, so quickly that even immortals such as themselves couldn't outrun it. There was also that feeling, the prickling sensation, the _empowering_ sensation.

The bomb was _cursed_.

* * *

"Good evening gentlemen and Pepper," said Jesus sweetly, sitting down at a long table and folding her hands on it. "I'm glad we could all meet here tonight, except for War. And, from what I heard, Pestilence as well."

SHE'S OFF HAVING FUN AGAIN, Death said dismissively. AND PESTILENCE, UH… He looked at Pollution, who was literally glowing with happiness or something like it. … HAD SOMETHING OF A RUN-IN WITH ME. WELL, _HE_ DIDN'T, BUT HIS, AH, ZOMBIES DID.

Famine looked emotionally drained. "I stop watching him for one minute and he slips away, just like that," he muttered.

"Sounds tough for him," said Brian sympathetically. "I would like to be able to appreciate that better, but I'm not allowed to have any zombies."

Adam face-palmed.

Pepper cracked her knuckles. "So anyhow, I heard that you haven't been working with this new Antichrist. The more information you give, the less bruises you'll get."

Death, Famine and Pollution all stared at her in shock.

She raised her eyebrow at them.

"We… we… attempted to meet with him, to begin the destruction of the world as it was foretold," Famine began tentatively.

"However," Pollution continued, his lower lip starting to quiver, "we decided against it, considering…"

I'LL BE BLUNT. HE WAS KIND OF A DICK, Death finished. HE DIDN'T EVEN SAY HI. FROM WHAT I CAN TELL, HE WANTS TO DO IT ALL ON HIS OWN. HE'S WEIRD.

"Really, he didn't say a word. We were quite polite to him, said we'd like to help him wipe out mankind, and…" Pollution's lower lip trembled and he looked at Famine.

Famine adjusted his tie. "He chopped me in half, a perfect symmetrical cut."

They all grimaced.

"Eh," said Jesus, "that's kind of… … … messed up…"

"Well, we knew he wasn't the nicest guy, but to turn down his own Horsepersons? Weird," Adam muttered.

The three Horsepersons present all stared at him.

"Oh, yeah," he said, blushing a bit. "Well, I didn't attack you, at least."

"If you're worried about our loyalties changing or something else absurd like that, then the simple matter is that we don't like him so we won't be working with him," Pollution established. "He is very mean and he can kill people by himself."

Jesus looked thoughtful. "I'd like to set up a meeting between the bigwigs on all sides," she said, "When are you all available?"

Death pulled out a planner. I'M AVAILABLE TOMORROW. THE REST OF THE WEEK IS BOOKED, HOWEVER.

"I can be there tomorrow as well," Famine said and Pollution, who didn't have a schedule, just nodded, going along with his companions.

"All right then!" Jesus exclaimed, "Tomorrow then, at the Cliffs of Dover, be there!"

Wensleydale, who was the transcriptionist for this meeting, sighed to himself at how absurd his life had become.

* * *

"Hey hun, any idea where this guy even is?" Michael asked, checking the rear-view mirror so he could see War.

"Follow the sense of destruction," Satan responded airily.

His two companions stared at him. "Since when have I called you hun?" Michael demanded.

"Well, maybe you should more often," the Prince of Lies muttered, colouring.

"Anyhow, if you go north, you'll find a city filled with people dying, and yeah, that's him." War was grinning broadly, terribly amused. "And no wonder I'm so messed up!"

"You're just fine, sugarplum." Michael's brow furrowed as he steered the Bentley north. "So he's got people turning on people now?"

"Killing those who wouldn't submit to him," Satan replied with a shrug. "Standard practice for a dictator, which it does seem he is whether he wants to be one or not."

At the speed Michael was driving, it wasn't all that long until a large city ominously loomed into view. Smoke was billowing from it and while they couldn't hear any screams, they could all _feel_ them.

The Bentley easily maneuvered through fighting people, gunshots and smoke clouds, although it turned the radio off for stealth's sake. It skidded to a halt in the middle of a rubble-strewn road, and the three occupants found themselves staring at a behemoth of metal and evil.

Michael hopped out of the car first, calmly striding over to this giant while cracking his knuckles. War and Satan shared a glance before hopping out after him.

"Listen buddy, I know you think you're tough shit and to be fair everyone's been telling you that for a while now," Michael commented smoothly, "but I'm the best at what I do, and what I do is beat the tar out of guys like you. I'm here to kick ass and -"

When Michael got close to him, Evilosoth the Destroyer, Conqueror of Worlds backhanded him, as if Michael were a gnat.

With a loud crack, Michael went careening into the nearest building, which tumbled down on top of him.

War and Satan had identical looks of _ouch_ on their faces before War remembered herself. "Hey you, douchebag!" she exclaimed, summoning a sword rivaling Evilosoth the Destroyer, Conqueror of Worlds' in size. "Try to pick on someone your own size!"

He raced forward, surprisingly fast for someone so large, and swung his enormous saw-edged sword down in an arc. War raised her own to block it, and winced when the sheer force behind Evilosoth's blow caused her shoulders to pop out of place. When he tried to follow it up, she back-stepped, dropping her sword and trying to push the joints back in.

Satan stepped in by trying to grab War's discarded sword; then scowled when he wasn't able to even pick it up. "Are you joking?" he asked, looking at War while silently wondering if she had enchanted it so that only she could pick it up, or if it was in fact just that heavy.*

Michael crawled his way out of the rubble, abandoning his human form in favor of his angelic one with twelve glorious wings** and a halo that shown brighter than all others in Heaven. "Oh no you did _not_ just punch me!"

Evilosoth the Destroyer, Conqueror of Worlds abruptly shook his head, disengaging from War. He disinterestedly walked away from the three of them.

"Get back here!" Michael snapped, going to pursue him until War grabbed him and held him back, gesturing with her head to get Satan to help her.

"Are you nuts!" she exclaimed in his ear, "I mean really! He's leaving us alone and I say let him go!"

"But he's _bored!"_ Michael shouted, although he stopped fighting them. "No one should be bored fighting _me_! I'll give him something to be bored of – death! Yeah! That lasts forever, buddy! _YEAH YOU RUN AWAY FROM ME!"_

Satan face-palmed.

"Yeah," said Michael, calming down. "Yeah, he's running away, the coward."

And thus did War, Satanand Michael stand together amidst the destruction, looking embarrassed and a bit confused.

"So, ah," said War tentatively, "correct me if I'm wrong."

"Okay," said Satan.

"Did the three of us just take on Evilosoth the Destroyer, Conqueror of Worlds,"

"Yes."

"And did we all just get our gorgeous arses handed to us on a silver platter?"

"No, no, he ran away," said Michael, colouring. "Did you see him? Did you watch him flee? Yeah. We won."

"Well, I could have accessed my multiple forms and eaten him," Satan said defensively. "I just chose not to in the hopes he would kill you two first."

"Oh shut up," his two companions ordered him together.

Raphael and Gabriel circled around for a landing above them. Michael didn't even need to ask what they were doing there; likely Raphael wanted to make sure no one got hurt and so had followed them, dragging Gabriel along for backup. In fact, the Archangel of Healing was the first to land and he instantly began healing all three of them at once. "I take it the battle wasn't going as well as you'd hoped," he said sadly, "but then again, from what we've been told this fellow is quite the surprise powerhouse, and maybe we'd be better off if we attempt to deal with this problem as a _group?_ Which, you know, we are, _Michael._ I hope you've learned a lesson from all this, that we're a family and we do things together."

As if to punctuate that, Gabriel landed and the first thing he did was smack Michael on the back of the head.

"Whaaat? It wasn't just me," Michael pouted as his skin mended.

"We could call the cavalry," War suggested. "I mean, I got my buddies, you've got your buddies," she said, pointing to Michael, "and you have subordinates who don't like you," she continued, pointing to Satan, "so if we get everyone together we can probably do some major damage."

Gabriel's halo began glowing briefly. When it faded, Gabriel said, "Ah, it seems the Son agrees with that plan, as she has just called us to order a meeting between our sides, at the Cliffs of Dover. For tomorrow."

Satan gave a very put-upon sigh. "All right, seeing as I won't let that guy live, I'll order my officers to be there. Tomorrow, then." In a flash of fire, he Descended.

"Ohhh, he thinks he's soooo speeeecial," War sneered playfully. "Well, I'll go get my boys, talk to you tomorrow!" And with distinctly less fanfare, she was gone.

The angels Ascended, leaving this torn-about battlefield behind.

* * *

* It was just that heavy. War had really embraced do-it-yourself methods.

** "Faaather, _Lucifer_ had twelve wings, why can't _IIII?_ You love him more than me. *pout*"

* * *

The Seven Who Stand Before the Lord were now in a conference room, six sitting and the First striding back and forth dramatically.

"All right team!" Michael said confidently, "We must band together to defeat the evil new Antichrist! He's tough, sure, but I have Faith we can pull through! The Four shall triumph over evil in all its forms, both little and imp-like and large and dragon-like, and in between like this guy!"

Zerachiel cleared this throat loudly.

"Plus the Four of us will have the special addition of Lucifer, who used to be our Fifth, and he'll be helping us too, just like old times!" Michael continued, "Of course he might as well not come along for all the good he'll do, but hey, every bit helps, right!"

Zerachiel cleared his throat louder. Raguel let his forehead hit the table. Chamuel smiled and thought about how lucky Michael was that he was hot.

"And I have it on good authority that the Horsepersons of the Apocalypse will also be helping us because War is awesome and she does that sort of thing, so we got all sorts of cool people! Together we shall prevail! And we shall start tomorrow at a meeting held by the Second! We'll teach that punk to not mess with the Agents of the Lord!"

"Woo," said Chamuel sweetly, snuggling up to Raphael. For his part, Raphael looked merely resigned. Uriel, who had abandoned Belial upon hearing that his family was having a meeting, was glaring daggers at the Archangel of Love. Gabriel was sitting in the very back of the room, staring at the floor.

"So hit the showers, we got a lot of work to do!" Michael finished as encouragingly as he could.

* * *

Crowley would realize later – far after he'd tackled Aziraphale to the ground and pinned him down, covering every inch of the angel with every inch of his demonic body and aura – that the last time he had seen Aziraphale Pulsifer, he had been an angel too. She had intended on killing two angels.

_In-fucking-effable._

The smoke cleared, and he was laying on top of Aziraphale still, covered in horrible burns but still _alive_ and healing quickly, with the angel underneath him completely unscathed and looking utterly in shock.

"Crowley?" he asked in a whisper.

"Hang on." Crowley drew energy from the remnants of the bomb in order to strengthen his shields and heal his body.

Aziraphale nodded, glancing around him at the debris and pieces of the building resting on top of them. He clearly had so many questions to ask but was too polite to question Crowley at the moment.

Crowley sighed and rested his head under Aziraphale's chin, strengthening the shield. "Well fuck. We're stuck here."

"But how-"

"The bomb was cursed. Designed to kill two angels and make it stick."

"Oh. Yes, I suppose that makes sense. So," Aziraphale let out a shaky laugh, "ah, am I allowed to thank you this time?"

"I guess," Crowley said as disdainfully as possible. It wasn't good for a demon to go saving other people's lives. Not that Crowley truly cared about how good of a demon he was when Aziraphale's safety was on the line, but it was the principle of the thing at this point.

"Well, thank you, again, hah. I suppose if I had to be stuck underneath the ruins of an office building it would be best to be stuck here with you."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"I meant it as such." Aziraphale summoned two bottles of wine. "It might be awkward, but…"

"I love you," Crowley gushed. "Let's keep making up for lost time?"

They started stripping each other again as they drank.

* * *

Two bunnies stared at each other in the middle of Crowley and Aziraphale's kitchen.

"Breeprreemrrr," said Truffles the celestial bunny. She stuffily cleaned her fur with her little paws.

Java Chip the Demonic rabbit gave his best baby smirk and purred back, "Prrrrrrrrreebree!"

Truffles' nose turned a shade of blush. "Brr…" she demurred shyly.

Java Chip began prancing around her, showing off. She began daintily sipping at a cup of carrot juice, her large floppy ears beginning to turn pink as well.

"Bree?" asked Java Chip, continuing to purr in supplication.

Truffles jumped him.


	22. Chapter Twenty

Aziraphale closed his eyes and hoped the world would stop spinning. "You know," he said, only vaguely aware he was speaking, "the planet is _always_ spinning."

"Too much. Too bloody move-ee," agreed Crowley. The couple was sitting on the grass with no recollection as to how they'd gotten out of the rubble or how they'd gotten back into clothing, disheveled and poorly-buttoned though it was. "Can't it jussst ssstand sssstill, at leassst when I'm drinking? Would that be ssso bad?"

"Apparently," Aziraphale replied, staring at his wine bottle cross-eyed. "In fact, I saw this once, I really did, I saw it on the telly, that if the world stopped spinning, it would be a rather bloody big mess. _Shke-boom_. It'sh all rather complicated, it really is."

" _Sssee, Divine Plan my arsssse!_ " Crowley exclaimed. "No way would a – a reaasssonable deity make it ssso that if a giant ball of rock ssstopped ssspinning it would explode! Definite proof againssst your Plan!" He grinned, as it had felt like a long time since he had been able to say that without fear of being Felled. Too late for that! "Things happen randomly and the Old Man jussst takesss credit for 'em!"

Aziraphale shook his head emphatically. "No, no, no, you're rather missing the point. The Ineffable Plan makes things very intr – intr – in-tri- intris – _nice_ , _accurate_ , a delicate balance of, of big things and little things. And medium things. You and me, we can't understand because we aren't..." As he struggled to think of the right word, he took a deep swig of wine. "We're not smart," he finished at length.

Crowley snorted, drinking more as well. "Nyah, I'm the smart one. If I were the Old Man, the world wouldn't sssspin. And there wouldn't be any pigeons."

"But ducks?" Aziraphale asked, looking a bit weepy.

Crowley nodded. "Ducksss can ssstay. But weasels are all gone. And bloody pigeons."

"If I were God," Aziraphale murmured, "why, I do think, I would get rid of, of, of..." He felt distressed as he took another sip. "Bloody something."

" _I HATE WEASELS!"_ Crowley shouted at the sky, shaking his fist.

Aziraphale stared at him.

" _AND MOTHER-FUCKING PIGEONSSSSSSS!_ "

"But I don't hate anything!" Aziraphale protested, sounding desperate as he tugged on Crowley's sleeve. "I dislike some things, but I don't _hate_ anything!"

Crowley scoffed at him. "'Course you don't," he explained, "You're 'n' angel. Angels love everything. You love _everything_ , from, from big dinosaurs," Crowley spread his hands wide, "to, to the littlest pieces of poo." He tried to move his hands closer again and ended up spilling wine all over the grass.

Aziraphale sniffed as haughtily as he was able. "I do not like poo."

"Well, livin' sssstuff then. You like it all, you do. _Phytoplankton_."

Aziraphale frowned. "I don't understand, you know, why the biggest things on the planet eat tiny little things. Like, you know, those big whales, they eat little things. It doesn't make much sense, in my opinion, it really doesn't."

Crowley didn't respond, busily drinking.

"And," Aziraphale continued, "why the humans' digestive system crosses over with their breathing. And platypi. I'll never understand platypi."

"No Plan," said Crowley determinedly. "There's your proof."

"Platypi," Aziraphale breathed.

"And pigeons."

The angel and demon stared at each other.

"Does this mean we just undid Creation?" asked Aziraphale breathlessly. "By proving there's no Plan?"

Crowley nodded solemnly.

"I'm so sorry!" Aziraphale wailed, flinging himself onto Crowley and hugging him tightly. "I didn't mean to!"

The demon patted him on the back of the head. "It'sss okay. It was all messssed up anyway. Bloody pigeons."

"So are we dead?"

"Maybe. Or maybe…" Crowley was deadly serious as he said, "Maybe we're the only ones alive."

They stared at each other for a much shorter duration this time before pouncing, rolling on top of each other and trying desperately to remove clothing again.

 _"Hey Crowley,"_ said Crowley's cellphone, which had somehow popped open in the rustle and tussle.

The drunken angel and demon, mid-embrace, stared at it as if they were expecting it to bite them.

_"Hell-oo? Anybody there? It's Belial. You know, your supervisor? Surely it hasn't been that long. Besides, I have it on good authority I'm pretty unforgettable."_

"Hello Belial," Aziraphale chirped brightly.

"Hey," Crowley muttered, grabbing the cell phone and trying to close it.

_"Quit trying to close the phone, Crowley. Anyway, apparently we're having a meeting later today, everyone from both sides. While I suggest you two show up, try to stay away from you-know-who,* who's likely still mad about the you-know-what**. Don't need you dying right after you get your old job back. Besides, if anyone is going to get killed by you-know-who, it should be me, considering_ _**my** _ _you-know-what was a lot better than yours. Sigh."_

Aziraphale gasped. "Dying? Belial you can't die, you're too shexy!"

"Aaaaangel, quit hitting on m' bosssss," Crowley whined.

"I'm doing no such thing," Aziraphale said primly. "I don't hit. It's rude."

Crowley just gave him a Look.

"I can't deal with this drunk," the angel admitted.

"Me neither. Let'sss sssober up."

They did so, glowing as the alcohol left their bloodstream. Now sober, Crowley assured Belial they were coming before quickly hanging up so Aziraphale couldn't drool over his voice anymore.

Aziraphale stood up and brushed the grass off his worn tweed pants. "Well, in that case, we ought to get going. And I may never drink again after that."

"No kidding."

"Do you really hate pigeons?"

"Flying rats," Crowley grumbled, spreading his wings.

"Well, I learned something new about you. There is a Plan after all," Aziraphale said fondly, spreading his own wings. The two took to the air.

* * *

* Satan.

** Crowley punching Satan.

* * *

In the haze beneath Crowley's drunkenness, another, much more poignant, conversation was taking place.

"Hello again, Hastur," said Inner Aziraphale primly, politely, his lips drawn in a tight line. He was dressed in a conservative tartan and tweed, and also wielding a frilly umbrella.

Inner Hastur stared at him with hurt demon puppy-dog eyes before recovering himself and clearing his throat. "I heard you've moved on," he said gruffly.

"You were dead!" Inner Aziraphale exclaimed. "What else was I supposed to do?"

"Did you even look to see if I was still alive?" the demon demanded.

"Of course not! You were eaten by a tiger!"

"That's not the worst part – you married _him!_ My rival! You had his child!"

"Did I, Hastur?" Inner Aziraphale asked dully. "Did I really?"

Inner Hastur's jaw dropped. "But… but if not, then… whose is she?"

"You lost the right to know that when you tried to oppress me! You're a misogynist pig!" Inner Aziraphale shrieked back, splashing his cup of tea on Inner Hastur's face.

Hastur recoiled as if struck. "Fine. _Fine_. You know what? You're a worthless little angel, just like the rest of them! Go off and do whatever you want, I don't care anymore!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

They both stormed off in opposite directions. Inner Hastur went into mourning before hanging himself, and Inner Aziraphale went back to Inner Crowley, who never suspected a thing.

* * *

The Five Horsepersons, traveling as a quintet now, were the last to arrive to the designated meeting site on top of the Cliffs of Dover.

THAT IS THE FIRST TIME I'VE EVER BEEN LATE, Death admitted as he parked his motorbike.

"Took you long enough," Satan scoffed even as Michael patted the space between them, bidding War to sit with her 'parents.' Which, of course, she did, quite enthusiastically. Satan looked even more irritated at this.

"Now Zerachiel, you said you had information to share?" Jesus prodded him.

The emaciated, blanched angel stood up and grandiosely brushed the dirt and grass off his celestial robes. "Beginning in approximately twenty-four Earth hours, the human city of London, England shall be Gomorrah'd."

Aziraphale gasped. Crowley's eyebrows shot up.

"This was among the last orders given by Metatron before his subsequent removal from Heaven," Zerachiel continued. "As such, I believe it would be best for us to engage the new Antichrist in London as, once the city is attacked, his forces will be overwhelmed from above."

The amassed group looked around at each other.

"That…" Aziraphale was struggling to find words. "That crude… that, that bounder…"

"Ass-fucking son of a bitch," Crowley supplied.

"Yes," Aziraphale agreed.

"Language," said all of the other angels.

"Zizi, it was going to be wiped out anyway… eventually…" Raphael pointed out softly, his hands wringing together in his lap.

"Well _yes_ , but – well I thought rather – or possibly – you know, it might… not. Or maybe it could…" He sighed.

Crowley shrugged. "I was just hoping the city would be standing so we could put it to use," he said as blasély as possible. "Maybe I could finally go 90 down Oxford without _someone_ complaining…"

"Oh hush," Aziraphale said quietly yet fondly.

"London…" Adam mused allowed. "End it there, huh? Sounds good to me. Kinda poetic, really… You know, beginning in Lower Tadfield, then on to Manchester, and ending in London."

"Hooray Britain and its Apocalyptic tendencies!" War cheered.

"As long as it doesn't happen in America I'm all right with it," Wensleydale voiced softly, "the Americans really go in for that sort of thing, and I like it more that it's not them getting it."

"We're avoiding the real issue," Michael voiced loudly, and everyone turned to look at him. "This guy – he's like two Antichrists in one, practically, and so that means he's got all sorts of awe-inspiring powers. While the additional forces will be good for fighting off his _army_ , what do we do about _him?_ " He looked directly at Jesus.

"That is a very good question, Michael!" she exclaimed, now standing up to assure she had everyone's attention, "And we've got a semi-decent answer!"

"I'd like to think it trumps 'semi-decent,'" Adam retorted, also standing up.

"All right everyone, this is, in case you haven't met him before, Adam," she said, gesturing to him.

"We have," said everyone.

"Adam is the ex-Antichrist," she continued, "and our best hope to stop that guy with the lot of names."

"What is he going to do, talk about his feelings?" Satan drawled.

"It worked on you," Adam retorted.

"Would you like to try it again?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and moving to stand up.

"Oh shush," Jesus chided, "that wouldn't work right now anyway. You two can figure that all out after we're done with the whole world ending thing, okay? Anyhow, as I was saying, our only hope is to take Evi – all right, I feel ridiculous saying that, from now on I'll call him E. Anyhow, E right now has both Adam's old powers and the powers that he's taken from everyone else, but if we can get Adam's powers back to him, then E will be… vulnerable-ish. I mean, he still won't be a pushover, but he definitely won't be as omnipotent as he is right now. The problem is, of course, keeping alive long enough to make the transfer."

"If you don't mind my asking, Miss," Dagon said very, very politely, earning him derisive glances from his demonic compatriots, "how exactly will the Prince be able to get his old powers back if he doesn't have any while up here?"

"That is a very good question, Dagon," she said proudly. He blushed.

"Quit kissing her arse," Belial said with an eye-roll. He was sprawled out on the grass with his head on Uriel's lap, so he didn't have much room to talk, but Dagon was far too intimidated by him to call him on it.

"I'll be doing it," Jesus said proudly. "I can transfer the power from E to Adam. And then afterwards, when he's weak, I will be the one destroying E."

The looks on everyone's faces instantly fell.

"Er," said Raphael, "with all due respect-"

"I mean, are you sure-" Michael continued. "Well, it's just-"

"You are hardly, ah, what are the words I'm looking for-" Gabriel muttered.

"Oh crap," Uriel supplied.

Satan started laughing hysterically before managing, "You were too scared to face me on your own, and yet you expect to not only take his powers from him, but also destroy him afterwards! You're a bloody _pacifist_!"

Jesus pouted as only a very-practiced woman can. "Destroying the Antichrist is my Purpose, I'll have you know. Destroying _you_ is Michael's. There's a difference."

Michael grinned at Satan broadly before sticking his tongue out. Satan did not deign to give him a response. "The point still stands," he grumbled instead, "you can't beat either me or him. You-"

Uriel cleared his throat quite loudly.

"-are a fine, outstanding individual," Satan finished.

War gamely raised her hand. "So basically this plan is 'go to London and hope we don't die before you make Adam awesome again,' right? In other words, the rest of us are going to be hitting a lot of stuff and killing a lot of humans, am I right?"

"Seems to be that way," she admitted.

"Sweet." She smiled.

"And there won't be any zombies," Pollution reported proudly, and Famine quickly insinuated himself between Pollution and Pestilence in order to prevent violence from erupting.

However, Pestilence gasped and devolved into a hacking fit before finally recovering enough to make his point, which was, "Actually, now that I think of it, in all that chaos, I might be able to start turning those humans into my second zombie army, which I can then send to fight…" He warily glanced at Pollution bitterly before finishing, "… the other humans."

Brian looked at Wensleydale. "If Pepper is gonna be protecting Adam, which I bet she is, what are _we_ gonna do?"

"Taxes," said Wensleydale sourly.

Brian smiled at him encouragingly. "I'll think of something we can do," he promised, "and it will make all these people with their better-than-ours powers so jealous, just you wait and see."

Pepper for her part said nothing, just idly started stroking the hilt of her sword that was bigger than she was, from all appearances psyching herself up.

"So anyone have any other questions?" Jesus asked.

"What happens after?" Aziraphale blurted suddenly. "Is it still…?"

She nodded. "If I die, then we all die and My Father descends to Judge the humans. If E dies, then they'll all die and My Father descends to Judge us. Although to be honest I'm not sure if _all_ humans will die, or just the ones actively against us. He might Rapture the ones who are with us? I don't know. My Father doesn't like giving away that sort of thing."

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Satan protested, finally standing up, "I refuse to be judged by anyone, especially not that old bastard!"

"You say that as if you have a choice," Gabriel reminded him coolly.

"I am _not_ some subject of his," Satan retorted.

"This is an argument best left for another time and place," Raphael interjected, "Please. Might we solve the problem of this new Antichrist first?"

Satan turned his head away haughtily and said nothing else.

"All right, then I think we're done here!" Jesus exclaimed.

Chamuel and Raguel ran up. Raguel collapsed forward, panting. "We're here," Chamuel gasped out, "what did we miss?"

Everyone got up and started leaving.

Steve, who was there and had been keeping silent for his safety, stood up. Michael, who was walking next to Satan, got a big grin on his face as he swept his leg around, kicking Steve behind the knees and causing the lesser demon to fall onto his back. Michael then placed his foot on top of Steve's head.

"That never gets old," he said fondly.

Satan snickered at Steve.

Steve pouted.

"Aziraphael, before you depart, there is something which we need to discuss," Gabriel said dourly, arms crossed.

"Make it quick or I'm leaving without you, angel," Crowley informed his counterpart before sauntering back to the Bentley (and making sure it hadn't been traumatized while in Michael and Satan's care, of course; in fact, he was made very worried when the Bentley began honking excitedly at Jesus, and went completely dead when he refused to drag the Christ over to it).

"Yes, Uncle Gabriel?" Aziraphale asked, smiling and hoping that the frown indicated that Gabriel was simply being Gabriel and not being the bearer of bad news.

"I regret to inform you that should your spouse survive the coming war, I have vowed to smite him."

Aziraphale blinked.

"Oh, oh dear," Raphael said, "Gabriel, you must be joking."

"No, I am not. That impudent whelp has insulted me one too many times. I informed him that if he ever Fell again – which, as you have no doubt noticed, I was accurate in predicting – I would destroy him. And I am an angel of my word."

"Aww, but that's my job," Uriel pouted.

"Nooo, it's _my_ job," Michael retorted. Steve crawled away after Satan, who had walked off with his typical swagger.

"Can we share?"

"I'll only share with you, Little Buddy."

"Awww yay! Besides, when did he Fall? I don't remember doing that. I need to go yell at him." Uriel skipped off.

"Anyhow," Gabriel continued, "I suggest you begin looking elsewhere for your eternal bed-warmer."

"I found mine!" a reenergized Chamuel exclaimed, jumping on an unsuspecting Raphael's back and being sure to press her breasts into him as thoroughly as possible. Raphael looked pained but he was far too polite to say anything. In fact, he put his arms underneath her legs to carry her more effectively.

Aziraphale bit the inside of his lip before letting his gaze fall upon at the demon reuniting with his car. Finally he voiced, "Actually, I have a better idea. Rather than kill him, would it not be preferable to make him wish he were dead?"

Gabriel's eyebrow shot up. "I like your way of thinking," he admitted, "I'm glad to see I was not incorrect when I said that you and I were the only sane ones."

"Er, thank you. I know just the way you can, ah, make him suffer, and I'll let you know about it when the time comes."

"All right then. Come, let us depart," Gabriel said imperiously to the other Archangels, walking to a new set of custom motorbikes that appeared in front of him.

"Ooo, shiny," Pollution gushed. "Are they environmentally sound?"

"Do _not_ touch or otherwise influence my mode of transportation," Gabriel snapped.

"Sorry, he's in one of his Moods," Raphael apologized to Pollution, following Gabriel. Chamuel was getting a piggy-back ride from him while telling him all about how her day was. Michael followed behind, whistling excitedly.

They had to stop and wait for Uriel, who had walked over to Crowley and started crying, glomping him tightly. "Oh _KIREAWEL_ I'm so, so sorry you Fell! I feel so awful! You just got cut and I didn't do it and that makes me so sad!"

Crowley looked incredibly awkward, but no one around was going to help him (everyone tried their best to look busy), so he reached up and petted Uriel on the head. "There there," he said, because that's what you do in this sort of situation.

Uriel looked up at him and blinked a few times before poking him all over. Crowley took a step back but Uriel did not let him go that easily. "How did you _do_ that?" he demanded, sounding awed, "I mean, you don't just Fall willy-nilly. It just doesn't happen that way, and yet, here you are."

"I didn't Fall the first time," Crowley said gruffly, suddenly terrified out of his mind that Uriel was going to smite him for being a demon now, "I sauntered downwards. You know. Vaguely."

Uriel gasped. "That's right! You fell through the trapdoor! Ooo that one was hard to pull off." He gave Crowley a suspicious look. "All right. You're acceptable. Mr. Belbel, make sure he doesn't get into trouble."

Belial snickered. "Now that he'll finally be making his Lust quotient while on _Our_ Side, I suppose I might as well."

"Ngk," said Crowley.

Uriel waved to Belial and flounced off, and the Four plus Three got on motorbikes and drove off to London.

Aziraphale sighed fondly and walked back to Crowley and the Bentley. "Done reuniting already? That was awfully fast for it having been so long since you last were together," he teased gently.

"Sod off and get in," Crowley muttered, looking embarrassed. Aziraphale, smiling gaily, did so. Crowley quickly hit the gas and the two sped off.

* * *

Wensleydale at least was allowed to drive; in fact, Adam cheerfully gave him the title Designated Driver, which made Wensleydale complain that it made him sound even _more_ boring.

But then again, he mused as he pressed down on the gas and took his fellow ex-humans to London, he could be in the back seat, or even the boot, and that would be worse. Even if Brian was a horrendous back-seat driver.

"Can't you go faaa-steeeeer?" Brian whined.

"Shut _up_ Brian," Adam said severely from his place sandwiched between Brian and Pepper in the back seat. "You realize the faster we get there the sooner we have to fight and stuff?"

"I'm just so excited to put my new powers to good use," Brian admitted sheepishly.

Jesus spun in the front seat, facing the three in the back. "All right, so we all know the plan, right? Once E's armies are depleted a bit, I'll start the transfer of Adam's powers back to him, while you three make sure we don't die. After that, Adam will provide backup for me while I take out E."

"You make it sound so easy," Wensleydale said, making sure he wasn't going a single mile above the speed limit.

"It will be," Pepper said, her voice full of promise and a smirk on her face.

Jesus gave her a shaky smile. "For what it's worth, Pepper, you scare me far more than Beelzebub ever did. And I mean that in a good way."

The redhead outright smiled at that. "I know, I know. But Adam's about half as scary as Satan - "

"Aaaaall haaaaail Saaataaaan," the Them said together, wiggling their spirit fingers and rolling their eyes with extreme sarcasm. Jesus chuckled weakly.

"- so I have to be twice as tough. And besides, there are some really creepy people Down There that I have to deal with, and you'd better believe they are Dealt With," Pepper finished.

"I am so scarier than Dad-Lu," Adam protested weakly.

* * *

"This is so exciting," Raphael said cheerfully as the Seven traveled together, each on their own motorcycles. "When was the last time the seven of us did anything together? It feels like it's been-"

"Never," Zerachiel interrupted. "We've _never_ done anything together. You four tend to do things, like concert tours, without telling us."

"That isn't true," Gabriel said primly, "We've done plenty of press conferences in Heaven as a group."

Chamuel gave a light, slightly-embarrassed laugh. "Those are hardly acceptable ways to spend time with each other. Besides, the only reason we're all together then is to stand behind Father, and He does all the work. I mean, surely, now that we're all together we can talk about some juicy gossip and bond!"

"Juicy gossip about how…" Uriel was going to say something rather rude and improper but he, being an angel, pulled out his large tome and placed it on the front of the motorcycle. He swerved back and forth wildly as he wrote, but at least he didn't insult her out loud.

"Now Uriel, you really should be nice to Chamuel, even in your thoughts," said Raguel tentatively.

"Shut up, Raguel."

Raguel pouted.

"All right, all right, we get the point, 'try to be nicer to you guys,'" Michael said, "but, you know, it's hard to do, considering how the four of us live together and see each other all the time and the three of you are sort of off doing your own thing… I mean, humans have no idea who you are half the time! It's crazy, the people they come up with. Sometimes even Uriel _twice_."

"I do like the name Phanuel," Uriel admitted, "But it just doesn't… quite suit me. Then again, I've never been fond of Uriel either."

"I know how you feel," Chamuel agreed. "Every once in a while I change genders or names, just to spice things up. It confuses the humans, unfortunately." She nodded at Michael. "Like the Phanuel Uriel thing, there's the Haniel Chamuel thing."

"Quit trying to relate to me, you sneaky pink thief," Uriel hissed back.

Raphael sighed. " _Uriel_ , be nice."

While Uriel wibbled, Michael interjected, "As I was saying, can you imagine a world with two Uriels? It'd be crazy awesome."

"Imagine a world where there was two of all of us, or even more," Raguel murmured, "A world where people's perceptions of us would create new ones of us. Like, like an American version, or a Norwegian version."

"Cool," said Michael with shining eyes.

"That is the most implausible idea I've ever heard," Gabriel scoffed. "I've found that most beings need _less_ versions of themselves, not _more_."

Zerachiel sighed at him. "To the surprise of no one, Gabriel doesn't approve of something..."

"Why don't you go watch some more children, Zerachiel?"

" _My domains of Watching and Children are separate_!" he screeched in a way that clearly gave away just how often he'd been accused of watching children.

Raguel was about to interject, as he was super excited to be able to curb some angelic tension, but Raphael beat him to the punch by chastising the two of them and reminding them to get along. Raguel pouted.

* * *

The demons were in a sleek black extra-long limousine that was being driven by a mind-dominated chauffer. Satan was gazing over his three 'officers' and frowning. "Great. Traitor, Wuss, and That Guy. We're sure to win with this stellar group."

"Well, Sire, you _do_ have plenty more officers in Hell," Belial pointed out suavely, "Many others who would love to service you in any way possible, just as I would."

"How do you always manage to make everything sound dirty?"

Belial did his best bow while still sitting. "I have many talents, as you well know."

"I don't," said Steve bitterly.

Satan materialized a clipboard in his hands and a pair of stylish, sexy reading glasses on his face. "Let's see… Beelzebub is dead, Mammon is dead, Moloch is dead, Azazel is dead, Leviathan is dead… Samael wants to kill Michael, Asmodeus wants to kill Raphael, Adramelech wants to kill Uriel, Samyaza wants to kill Gabriel, _I_ want to kill Michael… geez. If we get all our forces together for this Big Battle, Heaven's going to basically end up fighting a two-pronged war unless I kick some serious ass and make them pay attention to me. Which is fun, of course, but still, it's the principle of the thing. They should listen to me without the ass-kicking, _and_ I have to save my energy for my own vengeance. But still, if I have to kick their asses, I will."

Dagon looked a bit wary. "That sounds like it could be fun…" he said tentatively.

"Don't forget me! I want to seek my evil vengeance on Michael as well!" Steve suggested brightly.

"Ngk," said Belial. "The problem is that if it'll be so… expected if we betray Heaven now. Very gauche. It would be even more shocking if we did as we were, ah, instructed."

"You do have a point," Satan muttered. "And I really dislike doing what's expected of me. However, I also don't like doing what I'm told. So all in all I suppose it's a 'blessed if I do blessed if I don't' situation. Oh well, we'll see what happens in the spur of the moment. Who knows? Maybe Michael will leave himself vulnerable and I can kill him. That would really just make my eternity."

Belial, who would also prefer to see Michael die for the whole Sons of Darkness Debacle, decided to not press his luck. While Satan had singled-out Adramelech (who was far too fabulous to do any brutal murdering, Belial mused) as targeting Uriel, in reality all demons would like to have a piece of the Severer. So long as Satan thought it best that he make demons cooperate, then…

Well, if they ended up betraying Heaven, at least Uriel would survive. Belial would make sure of _that_.

* * *

Aziraphale gave a great sigh as Crowley sped toward London.

Crowley interpreted the sigh as Aziraphale needing to vent. "Why are we doing this? Again?" he asked, turning off _"Boys Boys Boys."_

Aziraphale gave him a small smile. "Because, it's what we do, apparently," he said, sounding tired. "We get ourselves involved in Apocalypses like some people get involved in… … in… in things like medieval faires," he offered, not looking pleased with his analogy.

"Neither are very good for your health and you end up feeling very unclean afterwards?" Crowley guessed.

Aziraphale sighed again. "I suppose that was a better analogy than I thought. Well, it doesn't matter now; this is It. And while I am glad on your behalf that you've managed to… rejoin your side, so to speak, all it means is that the old can of worms about what happens After is now open again, and you know how much I dislike worms."

"Tell me about it," Crowley grumbled, having had to often miracle the things back into grass to get them out of the angel's path.

"I just… At this point, the ideal outcome would be - all right, the most ideal situation would be for everything to go back to normal, everyone to forget this silly Apocalypse business, but let's be honest, after three times, I highly doubt that is going to happen."

"Your powers of deduction astound me." Besides, while Crowley had once agreed with that sentiment, the bloody buggers had _shot his angel_ and now they could all go up in flames for all he cared. In fact, a few of them already had, and for that very reason. Not that Aziraphale needed to know that. Crowley liked to forget about it himself.

Aziraphale ignored his snarking. "The second ideal outcome would be that… well… humanity dies, demons and angels coexist for eternity. But really, that's almost as unlikely as the first idea!" His hands were twisting in his lap as he admitted, "I just can't imagine what I would do with you gone for eternity, dear boy. I just _can't_."

Crowley reached over and grabbed one of Aziraphale's hands, gripping it tightly. "Hey, I thought that since our sides are working together, we'll both survive. So quit the fretting thing, would you?" He gave his most suave smile. "Besides, I'm definitely known for living when I'm not supposed to."

Aziraphale didn't return the smile. "Well, it's just that, after the battle there will be the Judgment, and so, you know, if, if He doesn't find you worthy, then… that's it."

Crowley didn't let go of his hand. "This is the same guy who insisted I live to save you, so if you really play up the 'how you'll be lonely for eternity' angle, then we should be fine. Apparently your grandpa likes you."

"He thinks I'm odd," Aziraphale admitted softly. "Besides, He technically loves everyone… except demons…" He gave a great sigh. "Well, hopefully He'll be in a very good mood when the Judging comes. Possibly… hmm I can't think of any bribes that might work…"

"What do you get someone who has everything?" Crowley drawled.

"Oh, _do_ stop the sarcasm. It's not becoming of you at all."

Crowley just gave him a Look.

"Well, I suppose you wouldn't be _you_ if you weren't such a smart-aleck," Aziraphale admitted, his hands still wringing. He gave yet another sigh. "I apologise. I'm just out of sorts. A very good portion of me wants you to turn around so we can go hide somewhere else, but really, there is no place to hide from the Judgment, so if there's a chance at all we both might live, I really want to take it, and it'll look a lot better if we actually participate in the fight, although the fight itself might kill us… but if it doesn't…"

"Don't worry," Crowley said before finally admitting, "I'm willing to beg. Just this once. Just so you don't do that 'big-eyed angel look' thing at me and I feel all uncomfortable." At Aziraphale's 'I'm going to say aww' look, he quickly added, "So, try optimism for once, would you?"

Aziraphale gave a short laugh and smiled. "All right. You and I _will_ survive the coming battle in London, the Lord _will_ decide that both of us are worth keeping around for eternity, and we _will_ have a happy ending!"

"Much better. So long as you don't launch any suicide fights against Beelzebub again, we should be fine."

"Beelzebub is dead, if you recall."

"Yes, but I _know_ you, and if there were some way-"

Aziraphale laughed much more heartily and lightly smacked Crowley on the upper arm. "Oh shut _up_!"

Crowley grinned to see Aziraphale in better spirits. "You know it's true. To add insult to injury I suspect you'll kidnap the Bentley before that, so at least I'll be _prepared_ when you _burst into flames and die_."

" _Baby is a bad boy with some retro sneakers_ ," the Bentley sang sternly.

"I won't kidnap your car, I promise," said Aziraphale.

" _Let's go see the Killers and make out in the bleachers; I like you a lot lot,"_ the car amended.

"We're here," said Crowley, slamming on the brakes. He couldn't suppress a heavy frown. "Well, almost, but we're not taking my car to a place that's about to get wiped off the map."

Aziraphale gave him a very patient, understanding smile, not pointing out the obvious about the Bentley's fate if the world ended. "All right, but, but before we walk on, I have something I need to say."

Crowley's tense face didn't change as he parked the Bentley and the two exited it. "Not the spark of goodness bit again, I hope."

"I think it's something of a tradition by now," Aziraphale replied, walking around the car to stand next to him. "You know, so long as we say it, things turn out all right."

"We died last time."

"Well yes, but if you recall I hadn't said my lines. You said yours, which is why we didn't permanently stay dead."

Crowley raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms at his counterpart. "We need all the luck we can get, I guess. Well, you're first."

Aziraphale cleared his throat. "I was thinking something a tad more dramatic, for extra luck." He put a hand on his chest and swung out his other arm theatrically before reciting:

" _I have always known_

_You have a spark of goodness_

_Deep down inside you."_

"Not very clever, but gets the point across," Crowley admitted.

He tried again:

" _A spark of goodness_

_Lurks within you secretly_

_You are my best friend."_

"Too sappy."

"All right, perhaps:

_My fluffenbutter_

_I love your spark of goodness_

_My dear my Crowley."_

"… … … You _are_ a bit of a bastard."

"Teehee. Fine, then:

_Yay spark of goodness_

_You are an old snake_

_Quit dunking the ducks."_

Crowley snorted. "I'll take it."

"It's your turn," Aziraphale beamed.

Crowley dramatically cleared his throat and proclaimed:

" _You are a bastard_

_I want to get drunk with you_

_You are worth liking."_

Aziraphale smiled. "We already did that though."

"Point. How about:

_Just get in the car_

_A little bit of bastard_

_Tartan is not cool."_

"Too disjointed. And there's nothing wrong with a nice, sensible tartan."

"Okay, it is a bit disjointed. Then maybe:

_St. James is boring_

_But I'd go with you every day_

_The ducks don't mind it."_

"Lovely, but it didn't mention my being a bastard, dear. That defeats the purpose."

Crowley sighed. "You just want me to spout more haikus."

"Why, I would never abuse your graciousness in such a way."

" _You call me 'my dear'_

_Because you are a bastard_

_You are my angel."_

Aziraphale smiled brightly and hugged him.

That hug quickly ended when both of them sensed a very strong demonic presence Ascending very quickly. The two beings stood together, staring in shock.

This particular figure looked to be a young man made of a bright blue fire.

"Oh bloody Hell," Aziraphale said, paling. "When did he Fall?"

"Is that…?" Crowley squinted to look through the fire.

_MOST HATED AND LOATHED AZIRAPHAEL, THOU AND THY DEMONIC DOG ART SO VERY, VERY SCREWED._


	23. Chapter Twenty-One

_As Creation marched on and Heaven became filled with other angels, The Lord noticed that Raphael was no longer as Pleased. "My Child, what is wrong? Why do you not rejoice in My Creation?"_

_Raphael's look was honest yet sad as he said, "I do rejoice, Father, but I have seen what joy You have gained from Us Your Children, and I wish to experience the same. I love my Siblings, but…"_

_The Lord smiled. "As it was always Meant to Be."_

_The following day, Raphael ventured across the Silver City and chanced upon an infant Cherub with golden curls and eyes of a dark celestial blue that shined with potential. Raphael took the child home and christened him Aziraphael, Healing Helper of God, and he taught him the ways of The Lord. They were content, and The Lord was very pleased._

Aziraphale had moved in front of Crowley the moment Metatron started talking, and his original sword appeared in his hand upon command. "Crowley," he said tersely, "get out of here. Metatron is too powerful-"

"Oh, like He – I'm not leaving you," Crowley hissed, cracking his neck.

 _THAT IS NO LONGER OUR NAME, SON OF RAPHAEL. WE ARE NOW CALLED THE VOICELESS; THE GREATEST POWER IN THE HELLS. THOU ART BRAZEN AS ALWAYS, BRAT-CHILD, YOU WHO DARED QUESTION THE WORD OF THE VOICE OF GOD,_ the Voiceless crooned, filling their heads instead of their ears, _AND EXTERMINATING YOU SHALL BE SUCH A PLEASURE FOR US._

"No need for you to stay, Crowley dear boy," Aziraphale said, putting on his best cocky smirk (which Crowley had assured him wasn't all that cocky, but one tries one's best), "After all, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of vermin infestations."

"You say that, but I've seen you scream in surprise at an unexpected mouse."

"The key word being _unexpected_."

Apparently sick of their bantering, the Voiceless clenched his fist and the fire that surrounded him flew outwards, knocking both of his opponents backwards and setting clothing on fire. Aziraphale landed on his bum and threw himself into a roll even as he felt the hellfire burn his skin. He willed himself to ignore the pain; since hellfire is to angels as holy water is to demons, that ought to have _killed_ him, which meant the Voiceless wanted to toy with him.

Crowley was warmed up by the sudden burst of fire, yes, but in reality most of it was focused on Aziraphale anyway. In fact, to Crowley it was just a pleasant heat, although watching Aziraphale be enveloped in hellfire was enough to make him want it to stop.

Aziraphale vaguely wished that someone would have _told him that Metatron had Fallen_ , because everyone knew he hadn't liked him very much, so a little forewarning would have been nice!

Metatron had been a Seraph, and like all Fallen his powers had warped and somewhat lessened in the Fall, but not enough to truly change the tide of the battle. If the Voiceless' dialogue was to be believed, he considered this a grudge match, in which case his hatred of Aziraphale would help fuel his demonic powers. While angelic auras are more effective against demons than vice versa, Aziraphale was merely a Principality even if he was of the warrior persuasion (when he felt like it, at least), while Metatron had been Beelzebub's equal. It had taken two exhausted Archangels and two lesser demons to destroy Beelzebub. One lesser demon and one lesser angel could not destroy the Voiceless.

However, the Fallen angel had always been cockier than he had a right to; he had once been punished by God Himself for overstepping his boundaries, with a flaming whip no less*, and he had obviously Fallen for a reason. And if he was toying with Aziraphale now, he clearly felt as if he were in control of the situation. Arrogance, Aziraphale knew quite well by now, typically served as the downfall of most beings whom seemed to be indestructible.

Aziraphale glanced out of the corner of his eye to see what his partner was doing. Crowley had reached into the Bentley and pulled out, of all things, an empty bottle of wine. Although the dramatic thing, Aziraphale noted, would have been to smash it on the Bentley to create a jagged edge, Crowley instead miracled it broken. Aziraphale sighed inwardly (wondering if Crowley had done so out of laziness or out of respect to the Bentley), raised his sword, and decided to take what he could get.

The Voiceless waved his hand and Aziraphale could feel the air heat up. Reacting instinctively, he concentrated his angelic aura into forming a shield in front of him. He didn't have enough power to defend both himself and Crowley, but while Crowley would obviously be hurt by hellfire, he would have a much better time of it than Aziraphale would. He crossed his metaphoric fingers and hoped he was right on that mark as he forced himself to concentrate on not dying.

Meanwhile Crowley looked at his new broken bottle and vaguely wondered what he was going to do with it… before remembering that _he had an actual weapon._

Well, his feelings on that mark were mixed. On the one hand, a gun would be pretty valuable, especially a blessed one. On the other hand, Crowley had a very firm policy regarding useful weapons in hopeless fights. If he was going to die – which was a definite likelihood – he didn't want any _hope_ attached.

But then there was the sound of glass cracking, and a few licks of hellfire slipped through Aziraphale's shield. Crowley, not even thinking anymore, took out his blessed handgun, aimed it at the Voiceless, and pulled the trigger.

The bullet pierced through the hellfire and hit the Voiceless' shoulder, causing the previously stoic Fallen to hiss in pain, his flames retreating to surround him in a tight cocoon.

Aziraphale, looking crisped and worried, dropped his own shield and backed up to stand next to Crowley. "He's not going to be happy you did that," he said tersely, holding his sword in two hands.

"I can't say I care about his opinion, but I do need to ask what that could do to our chances," Crowley hissed back, serpentine eyes darting around warily.

"Well, once he recovers himself, I imagine he'll either pretend it never happened, or decide to just kill us instead of teasing."

"Wait a minute; you think he's just messing around?" Crowley asked, paling.

"You mean you couldn't tell? Dear, he just enveloped me in hellfire and I'm still standing here. That ought to have killed me."

Crowley raised the gun and pointed it at where he hoped the Voiceless' head was. Before he could pull the trigger, however, the flames all sank down into the dirt, leaving nothing behind.

Aziraphale's grip on his sword tightened. "Oh dear, oh dear oh dear oh dear. Where did he go and what…?"

The ground began rumbling ominously.

* * *

* When the prophet Elisha visited Heaven, Metatron was sitting on God's throne, making Elisha think there were two Gods. God was not amused.

* * *

A brand new, bright red yet run-down and leaking truck raced down the roadway. Had anyone been around to see it, they wouldn't have even noticed that there were five adults crammed into the little space; they would have noticed the black-cloaked skeleton at the wheel. However, merely glancing at this particular truck was enough to cause even the sturdiest of mortals to drop over dead.

"My sword is gone!" War whined from her place in the middle of the back seat. "How mean is that? That angel just takes my sword whenever he wants to, like it's his or something. And he doesn't use it enough to justify it, either. I mean, I'd be less angry if he used it all the time, like it _should_ be used."

Famine would have pointed out that it had originally been the angel's sword, but refrained because now he was in the front passenger seat and could thankfully not pay attention to anything. Death, their Leader, had insisted that Pollution and Pestilence ride together in the back seat so they would hash out their problems on the way over. It was unknown whether he did this because War had begged him to, or because he was genuinely sick of hearing the two snipe at each other.

"Well, at least he didn't take away your entire zombie horde," Pestilence said gruffly. "You know, strike against one of his own out of spite, simply because he's a little acidic jerk."

"He could have snubbed you instead," Pollution sniffed in reply, "Really hurt your feelings, like a _festering wound_."

"Is there any other kind?"

NOW CORRECT ME IF I'M WRONG, POLLUTION, BUT DON'T YOU PREFER BEING IGNORED? ISN'T THAT SORT OF YOUR THING? Death asked, changing lanes without a turn signal.

"Not by my teammates," Pollution said bitterly. "You all are supposed to care about me because we're working together and are killing things in the name of Armageddon. Besides, I'm not _all_ about not being noticed. Sometimes I like to be flashy, long-lasting and unforgettable. Just ask the Soviet Union! Chernobyl was so _exciting_."

Pestilence snorted, looking out the window. "I suppose I can understand the sentiment. I much prefer flesh boils and rotting skin. Pus. An insatiable desire for brains."

"I've done that before," Pollution said, perking up a bit. "Except for the brains part."

"I saw your work in Nagasaki. Very impressive," said Pestilence fondly.

Pollution and Pestilence began animatedly discussing the joy that comes from watching someone decay, be it from leprosy or radiation poisoning. Famine and Death both gave sighs of relief. War, however, looked incredibly disappointed.*

* * *

* And swordless. She wanted that pointed out.

* * *

Raphael continued to ride his motorbike, going the speed limit of course, although his Zizi Is In Danger sense was going off rather loudly. "Michael, perhaps this is one instance wherein we ought to be able to go _above_ the speed limit?" Raphael suggested loudly.

The other Archangels all gasped at him. Uriel's eyes filled with tears of betrayal.

"Speed limits are there for a reason," Zerachiel reminded him.

Raguel chimed in, "If everyone went above the speed limit, there would be chaos in the streets!"

"Honestly, Raphael, you know better than that," Gabriel chastised gently.

"Never mind," he said primly, his ears turning red. He silently hoped his Zizi was all right.

* * *

Aziraphale and Crowley stood back to back, weapons raised and looking at the ground.

"All right, I had a thought," said Aziraphale.

"Ah, so the world is about to end after all," Crowley snarked back.

Aziraphale ignored him. "You obviously shot him with a blessed bullet, otherwise that wouldn't have pierced through his defenses. Which means it's likely that he can't control it at all, and so, subjected to all that fire, it might melt. Inside him. In his blood stream."

"Poisoning him," Crowley supplied, eyebrows shooting up.

"Precisely. So in theory we don't need to kill him, because the longer we last-"

The angel was cut off when the rocks began floating, the rumbling increasing intensity. A crack in the ground formed between the pair, quickly spreading and spouting out hellfire. Crowley instinctively pushed Aziraphale out of the way. Then he himself was enveloped in hot flames that hurt, burned, but didn't kill.

Then the flames parted enough so that Aziraphale could see the Voiceless standing amongst them, holding Crowley up by the throat. The Fallen Seraph shot the angel a passive look even as he squeezed Crowley's neck. _CONSIDER THIS THE FIRST OF NEVER-ENDING PUNISHMENTS FOR THY ARROGANCE, CHILD. THY LOVER SHALL DIE BEFORE THINE EYES AS REPAYMENT FOR WHEN THOU RAN THY MOUTH AGAINST THY BETTERS. HUMILITY IS A LESSON THOU WERE NEVER TAUGHT BEFORE, BUT THOU SHALL LEARN IT AT LONG LAST._

The words rang in Aziraphale's skull. His fingers tightened on his sword, and he fought the urge to growl*.

He could feel something long-buried deep inside him pulling him towards something greater, something he lost long ago, and he embraced it.

* * *

* Just because a certain someone was being hateful didn't give Aziraphale permission to be rude, after all.

* * *

Satan looked over his checklist again. "Oh, right, Metatron Fell. I guess… I guess he kind of could be useful… if something of a prat… but a powerful prat. Really, he gave himself a title. How much of a douche can you be?" Of course, that he himself had given himself a title, Satan or Adversary, when he had Fallen remained unmentioned.

"Well if he Fell recently, he probably has a lot of grudges too," Belial pointed out. "He might be part of the problem. Besides, I remember him. He was a complete wanker, and not the fun kind. He's _definitely_ going to be part of the problem."

"So I guess it would be like old times, then," Satan replied with a sigh.

* * *

Crowley was trying his best to fight off the Voiceless. He had one hand clenched around the greater Fallen's wrist and the other at his elbow, both digging considerable talons into skin that was deceptively tough.

Great, just great. He was being used as bait for Aziraphale. Inwardly he was seething, less with fear that he might die and more from anger that Aziraphale might die because of him. On the plus side, it meant that the Voiceless wouldn't kill him until he was sure that Aziraphale would get the most pain from it, but on the minus side, well… if he needed to breathe, he couldn't at the moment, and anyhow how ignominious would it be to be killed by Creation's Biggest Prat?

Crowley winced as he felt the skin on his right half grow even hotter and a strong light blinded his eye. The Voiceless, who still had Crowley by the throat and lifted off the ground with one hand (and Crowley vaguely wondered if the Voiceless was really that strong or if he himself needed to gain weight), uninterestedly gazed to his right.

Apparently he ought to have been more concerned, as the next instant his arm was severed, with the wound cauterizing the moment it was created. The Voiceless screamed in pain and anger in their minds and backed away. Crowley hit the ground and scrambled backward as Aziraphale moved forward.

And that's when Crowley noticed something was different. Aziraphale wasn't wearing the same clothes as before; he was wearing green and silver celestial robes (although Crowley winced inwardly to see that he still was wearing a blue tartan scarf, which depleted any dramatic look he may have been going for). But, ah... far more noticeably…

Aziraphale now had four wings.

"Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty, Who was and is to come," Aziraphale said stoically, standing between Crowley and the Voiceless. "Thy fight is with me, Forsaken One."

Crowley, forcing himself to stand and healing his wounds as he did so, was thankful that at least Aziraphale hadn't grown three extra heads or hooves or any of that rubbish.

The Voiceless' aura swelled as he glared down at his foe. _YES, OUR CONFLICT IS WITH THEE, PEON. DOST THOU THINK TWO EXTRA WINGS MEANS AUGHT AS COMPARED TO OUR POWER?_

"I am again one of the Cherubim, the Warriors of the Host, demon," Aziraphale replied passively, "Destroying Damned such as you is but a pastime for me now."

The fires around the Voiceless pulled back into a shield before they suddenly dropped and he hissed in their heads again, still in pain. His remaining arm went up to cradle his injured shoulder. Crowley realized that Aziraphale had been right; the use of fire was melting the bullet inside the Voiceless' shoulder, weakening him from the inside.

In response to that show of weakness, Aziraphale tightened his grip on his sword and sprinted forward. Upon getting close enough, he swung his rightful sword of flame in a perfect powerful arc; the unadorned blade collided with the wall of hellfire that the demon had created to protect himself. There was a piercing crash like the shattering of a crystal tower, and suddenly the Voiceless' defensive aura was completely gone.

The Voiceless' eyes widened and he once again disappeared, going back underground. This time, however, Aziraphale did not seem too perturbed; he merely closed his eyes, lifted one hand in supplication and whispered a low Latin prayer.

Crowley wanted to help him somehow, but had to admit he wasn't sure _how_. It seemed like Aziraphale had this covered, yes, but Crowley didn't feel right just watching while Aziraphale danced around and schooled someone who had before been killing them.

Aziraphale spread his wings and with a mighty flap took to the air, avoiding being bushwhacked by seconds. The Voiceless, who had once again come above ground, cursed him rather creatively, and Crowley could see there was fear in those eyes. He took aim with his blessed gun and shot again, and the although this shot missed.

Aziraphale landed, didn't miss a beat, and pressed his attack. The Voiceless attempted to defend himself with a hastily-summoned sword. Aziraphale hadn't used a sword since the second failed Armageddon (not to mention the thousands of years prior to that he'd been swordless), now the simple blade seemed to be an extension of himself rather than a mere weapon; with grace and fluidity that Crowley hadn't known the stuffy angel was capable of, he quickly disarmed the Voiceless and forced the greater demon back. When the moment was right, Aziraphale used his wings to propel himself upward, sandaled feet landing on the Voiceless' shoulders and pushing him back onto the ground. Standing on his chest, Aziraphale raised his sword up in a pose that would have made Michael proud before shoving it down.

There was a veritable explosion, and Crowley had a hard time seeing through the inferno of fire and light that surrounded the warring angel and demon. When it all faded, Crowley couldn't suppress a sigh of relief to see Aziraphale standing there, slightly toasted but otherwise unharmed, although his feet were covered in a thick layer of soot.

With a wave of his hand, a cool wind blew through the area and the remains of the Voiceless floated harmlessly away. The angel collapsed to his knees, dropping his sword, and his wings curled around him protectively.

Crowley ran to his side and started healing the minor burns. Aziraphale let out a shaky laugh. "I can't believe any of that just happened," he admitted.

"What part of it? That you smote ex-Metatron, or that you seem to have gotten a surprise promotion?" Crowley ran his fingers through the down at the base of Aziraphale's new wings.

He shivered. "Both of those things," he admitted. "To be fair, I'm quite certain most of the Host would agree that he had it coming."

"So, you said you're a Cherub again? Aren't they supposed to have a bunch of animal heads too?"

Aziraphale smiled at him sleepily. "I feel the same way about animalistic appendages as you feel about maggots. The less, the better. I always worry that I might not be able to get rid of them…"

Crowley nodded sagely.

"But…" Aziraphale looked over his shoulder at his four wings. "This is quite unprecedented, if I understand it correctly. I always imagined that if enough strings were pulled, most likely all by Raphael, at the most I would become a Power, _maybe_ a Virtue at the highest… I've never heard of a case where… I mean, I hardly deserve this honor… well, most angels don't jump from Principality to Cherub."

"You're been on Earth for over six thousand years, you like books about as much as you like God if not the other way around, and you're married to a demon. What about you screams 'most angels'?" Crowley asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Er," said Aziraphale, "Touché."

The demon grinned. "So, four wings now, huh? You know how much I liked the two, so-"

He stopped trying to seduce him when he noticed that Aziraphale had fallen asleep, or passed out, kneeling. He pouted, picked him up, and started walking toward London.

* * *

Satan frowned as his checklist suddenly listed that Metatron was dead. "Oh, come on," he said with a sigh. "Already? What a loser."


	24. Chapter Twenty-Two

Our heroes of various angelic and demonic persuasions arrived in the city limits of London at roughly the same time. Instantly Raphael went over to fuss on Aziraphale, preening his new wings and cooing about how he knew it was only a matter of time until a certain hard-headed someone reversed his order to have Aziraphale demoted.

"So yeah," said the hard-headed Michael, looking at his watch awkwardly because he had issued no such order-rescinding, "it looks like we still have about ten minutes until the Gomorrah'ing starts."

"So I have to ask, what do you do when you 'Sodom' a city?" Adam asked. All of the angels present turned telling shades of red and looked away. "Ooookaaay then, I don't think I want to know."

"Anyhow," said Jesus quickly, "since it's only a matter of time until the forces of Heaven arrive, what about Hell's?"

"They're getting ready," said Satan with a shrug. "They'll show up eventually. We don't go in for the 'sound the horns and let loose the hordes of Hell' bit like everyone thinks we do. Way too cliché and predictable."

"Okay, sure. So with all of us here it's only natural that Evi – er, E," she corrected, "would be drawn here. And if not, well, we try again another-"

There was an ominous rumbling.

"Hey, that sounds like we're right next to an airport," Wensleydale said, looking up at the sky. Then, when the sun was blocked from sight, he said, "Uh oh."

"Where did the sun go?" Uriel asked, looking around.

"I believe that is an enormous airship," said Raphael, paling, "and that we are in very big trouble."

Large ropes fell from the airship hovered in place overhead, and the first wave of humans began dropping down from above.

"We have to take down that airship, if that's where his armies are!" Adam cried, pointing up. "Can any of you blow that thing up?"

"If we do that then it will come down _on top of us!_ " Crowley snapped back.

"All right!" Michael barked, drawing his sword. "Uriel! I want you to dismantle that airship piece by piece, knocking away what you get off-"

Gabriel shot Belial a look clearly saying "resist the urge to make a pun." Belial wisely acquiesced.

"- so it doesn't come down and kill us all! Whatever you do, do _not_ just blow it up until you're strong enough to take it down in one hit! Do you understand?"

"But I can't do this!" Uriel exclaimed, looking terrified.

"What? Yes you can, that's why I assigned you to do it!" Michael snapped back.

"But to do that I have to be able to _fly_ ," Uriel replied reasonably.

Everyone present stared at him.

" _YOU_ _ **CAN**_ _FLY!"_ someone shouted, although that person would never admit to having been an about-to-panic Wensleydale.

"Ohhh, right. Okay, so I think I can do that," Uriel said with a decisive nod.

"Anyhow, the rest of us have to fight off his forces until the big man himself makes an appearance, and then leave him to me – none of you try to engage him yourself, he's way too tough! Once he's weak enough from whatever fancy stuff you guys," Michael gestured to Adam and Jesus, "have planned, then we all descend on him and kick his ass, and we have another party!"

"Sounds like a plan!" Jesus asserted, grabbing Adam's arm and dragging him away, to the shock of his three bodyguards.

Michael lifted his sword. " _FORCES OF HEAVEN! ATTAAAAAACK!"_

"This is gonna be so cool," Brian gushed as he followed Adam and Jesus.

* * *

In theory, it ought to have been the forces of Evilosoth the Destroyer, Conqueror of Worlds versus the forces of Heaven and Hell. And, for a time, that's what it was.

The humans were well-armed and very enthusiastic, but the occult and celestial teams had the advantage in power. Once the skies split and the Host of Heaven descended to destroy London, the sides became equal in number.

The people fighting to change that were all driving full-speed to London, following the directions left by the late Aziraphale Pulsifer telling them where and when the battle for Earth was going to take place.

* * *

Meanwhile, oblivious to the approaching loss, Satan was having an incredibly fun time killing humans. Of course he kept one eye pinned to the angels who might, theoretically, betray him… or possibly leave themselves open to be betrayed… It could go either way.

A powerful urge to duck came upon him. He whirled around to find a middle-aged blond nun armed to the teeth with blessed weapons pointing straight at him; she had crosses, handguns, knives, and a very noticeable flamethrower strapped to her back. She was also _smirking_ at him.

"Trussst me, little lady, you've chosen the wrong demon to take on," he said superiorly.

If anything, her cocky smirk grew. "Nyah, I remember you for sure. Demon emperor you may be, but you're still no match for Our Lady!"

He looked at her quizzically. "You sssay that as if you've seen my face and lived."

She cocked a gun. "Killed your servant Moloch back in the day, actually, and then I got to watch you lose to Saint Michael and Our Lord Jesus, and you'd better believe I'm still alive. My name's Sister Prudence, nun with the Order of Our Most Holy Lady of the Righteous Smiting!"

Satan was about to make an unsavory comment regarding the name of her organization, but then he learned first-hand that she meant business when she launched forward and nearly cut his head off.

He recovered himself and snarled at her, flaring out his wings and ruffling his feathers, hackles raised. She slammed her elbow into his nose and knocked him backwards.

He had been just about to Damn her to Hell for Eternity* when his 'son's' friend, the redheaded one with authority issues, ran forward and saved the nun from Satan's Implacable Wrath.** " _PRU!"_

 _"PEPPER!_ " the nun squealed back, getting the redhead in a tackle-hug. "Pepper I thought – I thought you were dead!"

"I sort of am, but I've got a great job in Hell and anyway you have to leave now because the city's going to be destroyed!"

Sister Prudence gasped at her older sister. "You work in Hell? But Hell's evil! This is the Devil, right here!"

"He's not nearly as evil or awesome as he thinks he is," Pepper scoffed back.

"Really, he's not!" exclaimed Brian, grabbing Sister Prudence and hugging her tightly. She fondly pushed him off, gently smacking him on the back of the head. "Although you're just as pretty as always," he said, blushing. She blushed too.

Satan's jaw dropped in rage. "Excuse you! You both fail at being useful and I'll destroy your souls for your insolence!"

The three humans ignored him. "But…" Sister Prudence wasn't quite convinced, "but he's evil… and I can't… I mean, geez…"

Pepper took Sister Prudence's shoulders and shook them. "Listen t' me. I thought I wouldn't like it, but it's really kinda fun, and anyway it's all beside the point! I don't want you to fight your friends, but if you run away now you won't get hurt and you being hurt is bad too!"

She shook her head. "No, Pep, Brian, I can't run away, I-"

Brian shouted to Adam, " _Hey Adam, can we make Pru one of your generals?"_

 _"Sure!"_ he yelled back, hiding behind Jesus, who was hiding behind Michael, who was having a fun time.

"Hey, you can't just-"

Brian and Pepper held out their hands, glowing in black-light.

Sister Prudence looked down at herself. "I don't feel any different…"

"You just have power to kick more arse than before, that's basically it," said Pepper with a shrug. "I mean, my job in Hell is just that – kicking arses. You could definitely be my sidekick, and we could be a sister pair of demon punishers."

A little smile graced Sister Prudence's face. "I can punish demons. I can punish 'em real good, 'though I won't be your _sidekick_ ever, Pep. But, uh, there's something you need t' know." She gestured to the warring humans. "Right now, y' got the Order – we came 'cause we sensed all the demonic activity here. And then y' got the forces of Evilosoth the Destroyer, Conqueror of Worlds, who're apparently here because he could sense Jesus. But the forces of Manifest Destiny're comin'. Their leader told everyone to come here at this time before she died in that freak explosion."

"It's nice to see that you all kept in touch," Brian said weakly.

"Are you listenin' to me?" Sister Prudence snapped. "While things are kinda even right now, you're about to be outnumbered _really soon_."

"Oh, crap," said Satan. He had definitely been listening, although he had been pretending to not care about what was being said; at least until what was being said involved them all getting swarmed and dying.

* * *

* Actually, he had been about to order his minions to gang up on her.

** Or saved Satan from a continuing nun-induced beat-down, depending upon whom you ask.

* * *

Meanwhile, Uriel had taken to the air and was flying around the massive airship, taking off small pieces and causing seams to come apart, slowly but surely dismantling the airship so it didn't crash and explode on everyone below.

Truth be told, despite the life-or-death situation unfolding beneath him, he was having quite the fun time.

"Wheeeee!" he exclaimed as he flew around causing wanton destruction. Really, he ought to do this more often, he mused.

That being said, those inside the airship were _not_ having quite the fun time.

The more vocal leaders of Evilosoth the Destroyer, Conqueror of Worlds' army were debating heatedly amongst themselves as to how to deal with this rather annoying angel that was taking apart their means of transportation. However, the aforementioned Antichrist had no interest in the bickering of people he also had no interest in, and so he calmly strode over to the control computer and punched in a few commands.

Panels on the outside of the airship dropped down, revealing cannons that all aimed at Uriel.

"Oh, poo," said the angel, who began dodging missiles.

* * *

Raphael had been trailing Aziraphale, who was with Crowley of course, but still, one can never be too careful. There were so many bullets and bolts of holy and occult energy flying around, and who knew if one might accidentally strike his Zizi from behind?

It was so sad for Raphael, watching his fellow angels fight the Humans, whom he had always been fond of. Why, it hadn't been all that long ago that he had been around to fight their last plague (he owed Pestilence a punch in the mouth for smallpox*), or even then there was that nice sight-seeing tour with that poor little Tobias who almost got killed by that fish –

He felt a sudden sharp pain in his face and went flying.

* * *

* And that is the worst thing he's said about anyone ever.

* * *

Gabriel was not surprised at all when a demon sought him out amongst the ruins of London.

"Hello again, Samyaza," he said calmly, lifting his rapier. "I ought to say something about how we have a treaty, but I know better than to suppose you'll listen to reason."

The leader of the Grigori, whom Gabriel had bound into Hell, looked as composed now as he did then, utterly serious and very focused. "Gabriel. It's time for you to die."

With those simple words, Gabriel found himself on the defensive.

* * *

Satan fought a snicker. "Called it," he said fondly. "Although Adramelech is way too fabulous for something like war, but other than that, do I know my forces or what? I guess that just means that _I_ have to…" He smirked.

* * *

Evilosoth the Destroyer, Conqueror of Worlds looked down from his safe position, and for the first time since his birth, allowed a smile to grace his features; not that anyone else could see it, given he wore a fearsome helmet, but it's the principle of the thing.

Infighting. There was no way that Heaven and Hell could possibly win this fight when their agents were trying to kill each other. Especially not with more humans showing up.

Buses full of humans sped into London. Quite a few of the humans looked as if they were experienced military personnel, but quite a few were civilians as well. They unloaded from the vehicles and spread out, opening fire. The battle grew considerably more intense, and Evilosoth the Destroyer, Conqueror of Worlds grinned.

Now if only the annoying gnat of an Archangel taking apart the airship would find himself conveniently killed by a demon… Or even just a missile to take him out of the air…

Ah, there it was. Perfect.

* * *

Uriel had done some fancy flying maneuvers in the air, destroying missiles as they flew after him. But he lost focus for an instant and was felled like a shot bird, plummeting hard to the ground.

His head hurt something fierce (which he was used to) and he was rather pissed off now (which he was not used to). He stood up, wiped the blood off his mouth, ignored the burns and shrapnel that covered his body, focused his will, and released an attack of pure Presence that pierced the hull of the ship, making a very neat and fatal hole in the center of it.

"Ha ha," said Uriel happily, feeling a little woozy but overall pleased, "That's just what you get for hitting me."

The airship lurched in the air before sinking rapidly.

"Waaaait a minute, that's what I _wasn't_ supposed to do!" he exclaimed, paling.

Well, this was bad. It was going to fall and kill everyone, and it was going to be his entire fault! And even worse, he didn't have the power to just destroy the ship and thus save everyone! _What to do?_

Uriel bit his lip, concentrated, raised his arms, and formed a Presence net to catch the falling airship. When they collided, Uriel was pushed into the ground by the force, and it hurt as if he were being crushed deep under the sea.

The ship was dissolving against the net, but would enough of it be gone before Uriel passed out from the pressure?

* * *

Raphael pushed himself into sitting up, reaching up two fingers to his lip. He was quite surprised when they came back bloody. He looked up at the handsome demon in front of him. "Hello again, Asmodeus," he said with a weak smile. Oh, this wasn't good at all.

"You son of a bitch!" hissed the Archdemon of Wrath and Lust. He looked downright feral now, with a snarl on his lips and his wings raised up threateningly.

Raphael scrambled to his feet. "Listen to me, Asmodeus, I know you're upset, but it was quite a long time ago and anyway I didn't have a choice! You were murdering innocent people, and Sarah was a blessed woman!"

Granted, silently Raphael admitted he was pleased that Asmodeus seemed a bit more forthright than Azazel had. The last thing he needed was to be theoretically (this time) stabbed in the back and forced to watch another demon defile his baby.

Chamuel, who of course hadn't strayed too far from Raphael, gasped at the fight. She remembered hearing about this story – in fact, she had asked to intervene, but it was before Aziraphale and Crowley proved that demons could love and so she had been rebuffed. Allegedly, Asmodeus had somehow fallen in love with a human girl, Sarah, and had murdered any man who married her on their wedding day, before consummation. Eventually Raphael had been assigned to escort her Appointed Husband, Tobias, to her, and then Bind the demon into Hell, which of course he had done.

As she watched Raphael defend himself from Asmodeus' wrath, she began to debate with herself. Was Asmodeus angry about the Binding, or angry about being separated from his would-be wife?

"Please listen to me!" Raphael exclaimed, Skalme once again out as the Archangel moved on the defensive, stepping back with each blow. "Killing me won't change anything, and we're even on the same side now!"

"You separated me from my only reason for living!"

Chamuel felt a glimmer of hope.

* * *

Standing back-to-back with Crowley, Aziraphale looked up with a start. "Oh, it's that demon with the awful love poetry! He's attacking my father; I've got to go help him!"

Crowley stopped him by grabbing his arm. "Ohhh no no no. Before you know it Uriel will step in and you'll go up in flames and die!"

"Blast it Crowley this is not the same thing as last time!"

"I'm not taking any chances! You stay with me or else I'm knocking _you_ out this time!"

Aziraphale pouted. "Then come with me! My father-"

"Can take care of himself! That's Asmodeus, not Beelzebub, Asmodeus isn't as tough, and anyway look, the Angel of Good Lovin' is on her way to help him!"

Aziraphale may have miracled an approaching human's gun to be a water pistol, but he didn't stop giving Crowley a very affronted look.

"What? That's what we call her," said Crowley with a bit of shame.

"Be nice. She could very well become my step-mother," Aziraphale replied a bit bitterly. "Goodness knows she's been trying."

* * *

"Asmodeus!" Chamuel shouted as she sprinted over to Raphael. She planted herself between them. "I might be able to reunite you with your Sarah!"

Instantly Asmodeus stopped moving. "The more you speak, the longer you live, girl," he snarled, looking ready to start attacking again at the slightest provocation. He didn't seem to care that all around them humans, demons and angels were dying; he was singularly focused on the two Archangels in front of him.

"Chamuel-" Raphael began, putting a hand on the smaller Archangel's shoulder.

She interrupted him, continuing to the Archdemon brightly, "Why, if you truly do love her, it's perfectly within my power to reunite the two of you! She's a Saint now so she'd be in Heaven, so with a little finger-wiggling and a bit of Redeeming and you're as good as gold!"

"You're lying," Asmodeus growled, crouching lower and getting ready to pounce again. "You have to be."

She put her hands on her hips and flounced her hair. "Really now, Asmy, why would I lie to you? I'm the Archangel of Love. This is part of my Purpose – uniting long-lost lovers. Just keep in mind she may not want you anymore. It _has_ been two thousand years, after all, and she was a married woman."

Raphael gasped. "Chamuel, you can't just – just kill him and send his soul to Heaven – I mean, that's just too, too good to be true I suppose, and regardless it's hardly plausible!" If she _could_ , why, he would have to rethink his opinion of her, but he highly doubted _anyone_ could do such a thing…

Asmodeus fixed Chamuel with a very serious gaze. "Can you?"

She nodded brightly, warm eyes lit up. "Yes, I can, _if_ you really love her, and _if_ you put down your weapons. I mean, if you don't really love her, then, geez, you'll kinda just die horribly, and no one wants that, do they?"

He dropped them instantly.

She started glowing, connecting with her aspect of the Presence. She was beaming at him as she walked forward and closed his eyes with her fingers. He collapsed onto the ground and disappeared.

"My goodness," Raphael said softly. "I had no idea you could… or that even… My goodness. I must say I am impressed, dear girl." He had always assumed she was fond of the superficial aspects of love, the frilly cards and the diamond rings, but perhaps there was more depth to her powers than he realized?

Chamuel smiled at him. "I can do anything for you, Raphy-poo!"

"Awww," Raphael said, his ears turning a bit red. "You're a sweetheart, Chamuel, and I must thank you for intervening. Now then, we have a battle to continue, do we not?"

"Yes we do," she chirped, linking their elbows together.

_In Heaven, there was a reunion, and it was sweet._

* * *

Belial missed the demise of his drinking buddy due to the fact that he was awfully concerned with not having an enormous airship land on all of them. To that end, he had run to Uriel and was now standing next to him, fighting a Presence-induced migraine and coaching the flighty Archangel.

"Okay, now just keep calm and focused! You can outlast that airship!" he cheered.

" _THIS REALLY HURTS!_ " Uriel snapped back, arms still up. The two were standing in a crater formed by the pressure already, and they were sinking more and more. " _AND I'M AN EXPERT ON GETTING HURT!"_

Belial placed his hand on Uriel's shoulder, trying to will his own energy, his own tainted Presence, into something Uriel could use. Uriel's lips curled up just a bit as Belial began feeling weaker and he saw darker strands weave into the Presence web.

"I want to pass out," Uriel said rather companionably.

"Oh, _fuck_ no!" Belial snapped back, once again freaking out. "If you pass out everyone here dies!"

"Well, that sounds really harsh," Uriel admitted, blood dripping from his ears.

"We're all doomed," Belial moaned softly.

The airship continued to fall.

Across the field, Brian and Wensleydale saw this; Brian brightened while Wensleydale mimicked Belial's sentiment. "This is our chance!" the former exclaimed, "We can totally help the Saiyajin Archangel with our awesome hell powers!"

Wensleydale groaned. "You can't be serious about _any_ of that. First of all, he's not a character from _Dragonball Z_ – where are you going!"

Brian weaved his way through the beings of various persuasions, jumping over the corpses of those who had already fallen. He was giggling madly. Wensleydale felt he didn't have the time to face-palm, and so instead he merely sighed and chased after him.

"Focus on those you love! Take your energy from the Earth itself – all the trees and deer and stuff!" Brian squealed, sliding to a stop next to Uriel and holding up his hands.

Uriel was standing in the middle of a crater, and he didn't avert his attention from the falling airship. Belial, who knew Brian decently well by now, just sighed.

"Don't you dare do it, Brian!" Wensleydale shouted, catching up to him.

" _KAAAH"_

"Stop it!"

_"MEEEH"_

"We're going to get sued!"

_"HAAAH"_

"We can't handle another lawsuit, Brian! Don't forget what Atlus did to us!"

_"MEEEH"_

"We're still in debt! _We're still in debt because of you!"_

_"HAAAH!"_

Brian released a burst of energy, entwining with and reinforcing the net.

A large dark shape jumped from the airship when it was still too high for a mortal to survive. The armored figure hit the ground hard enough to make a six-foot crater.

At long last, with the airship nearly disintegrated above him, Uriel's shield dropped and large but not all-consuming pieces of debris fell to the ground harmlessly.

"Not bad," said Belial, feeling a bit light-headed but overall pleased.

"We did it! We saved the day!" Brian exclaimed.

"I know," said Uriel proudly before he collapsed.

Wensleydale sighed, pulled out his cell phone, and called their lawyers.

As Belial looked to Uriel and Brian did a victory dance, a spiked-gauntleted hand forced its way out of the debris.

* * *

Jesus grimaced at this turn of events. "Oh, oh shit, that's really not good," she admitted. She and Adam were perfectly safe, as Pepper and Sister Prudence were stopping anyone from getting too close, and also the fact that none of them had wings made them look like allies to the humans.

"What's not?" asked Adam, who vaguely wished he had brought cards. Then he noticed where Jesus was looking and said, "Oh _crap_."

"Michael!" she called, ignoring him, "Michael, get over here!"

Michael obeyed, hacking his way over to them. "What's up?" he asked somewhat breathlessly.

Jesus gave him a very pained look. "Michael, E is going to kill Uriel, Belial, Brian and Wensleydale unless he's distracted, and really the only thing that can distract him now is getting his energy taken. So although I'd hoped to do it when he had fewer allies, if I don't do it now-"

"Yeah, you just do it, I'll make sure Big E doesn't kill you," Michael finished, turning and getting into a defensive position. "Bring it on."

"Please don't die," she said, closing her eyes and putting a hand on Adam's shoulder, the other hand held out to Evilosoth the Destroyer Conqueror of Worlds, who had just finished prying himself out of the ground.

He, as anticipated, clearly felt his powers being pulled away from him, as he completely ignored the unconscious Uriel and charged at Adam and Jesus.

Before this silent charge could cleave its intended targets in half, Michael had stepped in, sword up, and blocked the attack.

* * *

War saw this turn of events and grinned. "Awesome, it's time for round two!" she exclaimed, sprinting across the field to go help her 'father.'

At least that had been her intention. However, it was quite a long distance between her and them, and there were so many people in the way that needed to get removed…

She pulled out a machine gun and her grin got even bigger.

SHE KNOWS WHAT REALLY MATTERS IN LIFE, said Death proudly. He gave a fond smile. Well, as fond of a smile as a skeleton is capable of, but there was no mistaking its intent.

* * *

Michael has rarely been the humble type, but now he had to admit a huge swell of pride as he successfully staved off the Antichrist ver. 2.0. Although as time passed Evilosoth grew weaker and weaker, he was by no means a wuss and each blow hurt Michael's arms. Still, considering E's track record, even this much made Michael confident that the longer he lasted, the closer to victory he got.

This was very true until he instinctively spun, blocking an attack that otherwise would have severed his neck from behind.

"Hi," said Satan with quite the superior smirk.

Evilosoth growled. "Mine," he said, and Michael felt a chill go up his spine.

"Normally I don't share, but you are my son," Satan said with something like fondness.

"Oh, crap," said Michael.

* * *

Uriel finally pushed himself back up, his head aching something fierce, but he couldn't help but remember his promise to Daddy.

He had told Belial that he was going to reunite Big Brother Lucifer and Daddy, and _he meant it_.

It shouldn't be so hard, although he'd never done it before. He had made plenty of angels Fall, but he had never bothered to try making a demon Rise before. Still… Well, Crowley had been able to do it without help, so surely Uriel could make someone else do it. Right?

He closed his eyes, reaching out with his senses, felt the familiar peace and love of the Presence surround him as it did all the angels. He could feel the pull of it around Satan, as if it were being sucked in and destroyed. Why, then all he had to do was reach out, find enough Presence to fill the gaps, and then sew Satan back on.

"Belial," said Uriel sternly, "I demand your aid."

Belial looked a bit wary, but he hadn't left Uriel's side this entire time and if Uriel decided to smite him now, so be it. "How might I service you?" he purred, just because now didn't seem like the time to stop hitting on him.

"I am going to reattach Lucifer to the Presence," the Archangel replied, raising his hands, "This shall take some time and will likely earn me the ire of many opponents in my weakness. You will be protecting me. I must not fail. This is the Will of the Lord."

Belial was still of the opinion that no one would want Satan to be an angel again, but he certainly knew better by now than to argue with Uriel in one of his moods. So instead he cracked his back and limbered up a bit. "Go ahead."

Uriel's hands began weaving an intricate pattern in the air.

* * *

Aziraphale and Crowley were working back-to-back, their blended auras, both occult and ethereal, making a virtually impenetrable shield around themselves. As a result, they were the two safest beings on the field at the moment.

"Well then, for once I'm actually quite glad that you were the only demon who decided I needed to be wiled every once in a while," Aziraphale said cheerfully.

"That's not true," Crowley replied gamely, turning a human's gun into a very surprised chicken. "Remember Barbas?"

"Oh, he hardly counted. Besides, he's dead now anyway. I don't suppose _you_ have any demons who would take exception to your continued existence enough to attack you now?"

Crowley shrugged. "Let's just say that I've got my fair share of detractors*, but none of them angry enough to come after me when I'm standing next to this sexy blond tight-arsed Cherub I know Biblically."

Aziraphale blushed. " _Really_ , my dear."

"And anyway, the reason that the demons are attacking your side is because they haven't been able to do it in thousands of years. Anyone who's wanted _my_ hide as snakeskin boots had plenty of opportunity to do so before I got angel-ized."

Aziraphale miracled another attacking human's weaponry into a nice bottle of red wine. "Fair enough. It just makes your side look bad, you know, that they can't let go of grudges."

"You say that, but you've got plenty on your side who are just as bad if not worse -" Crowley's eyes widened. "What is _that_?"

Aziraphale glanced at him over his shoulder. "What is – oh _dear_."

"We call it Specimen 32A," crooned a very happy-looking middle-age man wearing a white lab coat. Anything else about him and his two friends was deemed inconsequential, considering there was an enormous seven-headed dragon behind him that was clawing at the ground, raring to go. "Formed with the feather of a very powerful demon!"

"That feels like Satan's aura," Crowley said weakly, paling.

"Oh, bollocks," said Aziraphale. He was doing his level best to not panic and run. Of course this dragon thing was quite demonic and thus going to target _him_ , but Crowley would likely get in the way and so get targeted as well, so he really didn't have a choice but to stay because he wasn't going to leave Crowley behind no matter how scary this was and -

The dragon charged at them. Aziraphale and Crowley grabbed each other and dragged the other out of harm's way.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said tersely while the dragon regrouped itself, as three of the heads were now turned to focus on them, "you need to-"

"Don't you _dare_ tell me to run!" Crowley snapped back, "I've never taken you up on that offer and I never bloody _will_ so _stop it!_ "

Aziraphale wanted to give Crowley a Look and a chastisement to be polite, but now was not the time. Instead he took Crowley's hand and held it tightly. "All right, perhaps we can try to-"

Reactively instinctively, Aziraphale pushed Crowley away, and in the next instant was enveloped in blackness.

* * *

* Dagon, for one, had given serious consideration to finally dealing with Crawly, until he saw that Crawly's angel was now more than able to kick his arse into next week. Never a paragon of bravery, Dagon had decided to put off his vengeance** until later.

** No, he didn't have a clue why he wanted vengeance on Crawly anymore. Unlike with Hastur, this had nothing to do with Antichrist interference and everything to do with the fact that Dagon really had no reason to be mad at Crowley in the first place.

* * *

Elsewhere, Pestilence saw this and growled. "The plagiarists! And they're even dressed like me! This cannot be allowed!"

Famine, who had been tagging along with him to make sure that neither he nor Pollution decided to kill each other out of spite (as they may have made up, but who knew how long that would last? Famine didn't trust either of them to not betray the other) gave a very pained sigh and walked off. He could do just as well hanging out with Pollution, and Pollution talked far less. Besides, Pollution looked to be having more fun, as he was off sitting on the ruins of a building humming to himself while causing the people around him to melt from radioactive heat.

Pestilence didn't seem to care about Famine's leaving him. He raised his arms, exerting his influence and imbuing corpses surrounding him with the special virus he'd spent decades perfecting. They slowly lumbered until they were vertical.

"Zombie Army!" he commanded grandiosely.

"Brains?" the army asked him.

He winced, silently mourning his far more advanced, now dearly-departed army*. "Destroy that, that rip-off of my hard work!"

"Brains!"

They slowly began hobbling towards the dragon, a few losing precious limbs on the walk, and Pestilence sighed at the anticlimax of it all.

* * *

* Departed _again_ , as the case may be.

* * *

Crowley sort of lost it. There were absolutely no thought processes behind what he did next, which was to give a feral snarl and launch onto the head that had just eaten Aziraphale.

The dragon's other six heads snapped around, attempting to pry him off, but Crowley could not be deterred as he severed that head and continued down the neck, trying to find the angel before he ended up in the dragon's belly.

Judging from the sword that poked out of the top of the main body, however, it was too late for that particular hope.

There was a sharp piercing pain in Crowley's right side but he ignored it, pulling out his gun and shooting at the closest head. It let out a scream of pain and recoiled from him, knocking the entire dragon off-balance. He started clawing his way down the neck he was on, heading down towards the main body with his talons and fangs out and filled with poison.

The neck he was on rotted off, and Crowley jumped onto the main body of the beast. Seeing where Aziraphale's sword was poking through, he started clawing there, completely ignoring the dragons' attempts to dislodge him, singularly focused on saving Aziraphale.

He didn't hear the war cry of "Braaaaains!" even though it was quite loud and accompanied by hundreds of corpses swarming the dragon and beginning to munch.

Finally there was a hole, and Crowley ripped Aziraphale out of it before flapping his wings hard and getting the two of them a safe distance away from the zombies and their newest lunch.

"Look at them go!" Pestilence crooned, looking rather pleased. "They're not as good as my old ones, but they'll do in a pinch I suppose. One takes what one can get and all that." He stopped crooning and looked angrier as the humans around him started shooting at his precious babies.

When the zombies began a chorus of, "Ow!", he said curtly, "Excuse me, gentlemen," addressing his partners-in-crime, "might you join me in destroying some particularly hurtful humans?"

Famine and Pollution appeared right there with him. "I suppose so," Pollution murmured, looking thoughtful. "I do suppose it would be in our best interest. But then again, all of these bullets are doing marvels for my psyche. They don't decompose, you know."

"It's rather shameful that my powers are so… passive," Famine admitted, "It's simply not my style to just make someone wither. I much prefer more far-reaching ideas."

"You need to make them weaker, and they'll be more susceptible to my viruses," Pestilence cajoled him, "And Pollution, if you would merely cause their guns to malfunction? A little rust, perhaps gunpowder leakage?"

"Oh, if the gunpowder leaks enough and something gets set on fire… imagine the explosion!" Famine chimed in, his voice picking up tempo, "Why, this area of the world would become _uninhabitable_. No one could possibly make food!"

Pollution began glowing in happiness. "All right, let's do it!"

Ignoring the working Bikers, Crowley landed and laid Aziraphale down. The angel was mostly unconscious and covered in burns, acid and dragon goo, and Crowley set his power to heal him. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," he muttered.

His dark celestial blue eyes opened, and he smiled at Crowley sleepily. "Hi."

"Hi yourself, angel," said Crowley with a put-upon, overdone sigh. "This is much better than you blowing yourself up, but really? You let yourself get eaten by a dragon? You owe me for this suit. It's ruined."

Aziraphale's fingers twitched, clearly trying to give him a good-natured shut-up smack, and Crowley grinned in relief.

* * *

Michael was the Warrior of Heaven, the Expeller of Satan, and had quite the military record under his belt. When it came to combat, there was none finer. Although he was taking on two opponents both superior to him in raw power, he beat them both hands-down in skill and finesse and as such was holding his own.

He reminded himself, as he parried Satan and dodged Evilosoth, that he didn't have to beat either of them. He just needed to distract them long enough so that Adam could get his powers back, and Jesus and Adam could intervene. Then… then it was time for him to finish off Satan once and for all.

_Revelations has been discarded. We are forging our own destiny now._

So, what if that meant he didn't have to… or...?

There was a sudden onrush of demonic power from the side and Michael was so caught off-guard he was hit and flung to the side, landing hard and rolling into a defensive crouch.

"Hello again, Michael," said Samael, standing with his two allies. "I have been waiting for this day for a very long time."

Michael gaped at the three of them. "Oh come _on,_ this is the exact opposite of fair!"

Satan smirked at Samael and Evilosoth. "While I don't mind you helping me, I want it made clear that if either of you takes the killing blow, I'll destroy you."

Michael, an angel, did not make it a habit to swear. However, he managed an _"Oh_ _ **fuck**_ _,"_ before the three demonic entities attacked him again.

* * *

Samyaza apparently thought he could defeat Gabriel by merely Willing it done, as the Fallen angel was barely fighting back with his weapon. Instead, it was more of a battle of Presences, and it was one that no demon save Satan could win against the Third.

The calm, composed Watcher was slowly beginning to panic as Gabriel continued to press his advantage before dispatching him without fanfare. "Next time, stay banished," he said curtly.

_Gabriel, can you hear me?_

Gabriel looked up with a start, Samyaza dead at his feet. The humans were regrouping, and it was very apparent to Gabriel that the voice had been in his head, as Michael was fairly far away.

 _Yes, Michael, I can hear you. I can barely see you – are you up against three opponents?_ He worked at sliding his rapier out of Samyaza's head so he could go aid him.

_Um, yes, but for once not because I brought them on myself! But that's not my point. Stay back, okay? And um, yeah, I love you. Have ever since the day you corrected what my Name meant._

Gabriel gasped out loud. That had been before Time began, and wait a minute, did he actually say… _What did you just say?_

Michael cut off communication with Gabriel. Now that he had gotten that off his chest, he needed to focus. It had been awhile since he had been in such a precarious position.

Oh, wait. It had been _never_.

Satan, Evilosoth the Destroyer Conqueror of Worlds and Samael were all trying to kill him rather enthusiastically, and Michael was getting bloody _tired_ , but now it was just the principle of the thing. So what if the Plan had changed apparently, and that he wasn't destined to cast Satan into a Lake of Fire – after all, if he were, there would be a convenient one nearby! Why, all he had to do was live, and sure it wouldn't be quite so glorious as the original Plan, but it was hard to tell God He was wrong as He would just smirk or kick you out of Heaven, so really –

He forced himself to get back on track. Right, dodge duck parry-dodge wait is that an opening –

Michael smoothly decapitated Samael. He didn't allow himself to feel any sense of victory, because that only meant that there were now _two_ enemies he was fighting, so –

"Huh? Oh, hi Azrael," Michael said. "What's up? Having fun?"

SORRY, MICHAEL, BUT BUSINESS IS BUSINESS. Death pointed his scythe at him, and Michael understood exactly what had just happened.

"Oops," he said, because nothing seemed fitting.

* * *

Gabriel grasped his chest and looked over, not even having the presence of mind to finish wiggling his rapier out of Samyaza's head.

 _"MICHAEL!"_ he screamed, abandoning his weapon to run across the field.

Raphael gasped as well, too shocked to say anything else, and he also took off at a sprint. Chamuel, who had never left his side, followed him, her large warm eyes filling with tears.

Uriel was still busy reattaching Satan to the Presence, but even he lurched in agony before recovering himself, leaving Belial to wonder what was going on.

Aziraphale, half-conscious and covered in acidic burns though he was, opened up one eye weakly. "Mic'l," he muttered, trying to push himself up, "th' Second's in d'nger, I c'n feel it." Crowley snapped at him to keep still, although the fact that all the angels on the field were reeling told him almost exactly what had happened.

War gaped. "Wow, that's kinda poetic," she admitted. "My mom killed my dad."

Death shrugged. HE'S BEEN AT THE TOP OF MY TO-DO LIST SO OFTEN IT'S HARD TO BELIEVE I ACTUALLY JUST COLLECTED HIM. I FEEL LIKE I ACCOMPLISHED SOMETHING TODAY.

Satan was feeling high and laughing hysterically, and anyone familiar with him could detect a good deal of insanity mixed in with his mirth. "I win!" he gasped out, twisting his sword in Michael's chest from behind for good measure. "I _win_! Victory is _mine!"_

Evilosoth the Destroyer, Conqueror of Worlds did not look pleased at the demise of his prey. He had none of his father's arrogance when it came to killing the General of Heaven, but he did have quite a bit more bloodlust. He turned to kill his father for this, only vaguely registering that the Fallen Emperor was _crying_ amidst the insane laughter.

And then suddenly Satan was gone, and the Antichrist felt considerably weaker. Oh, right, that woman had been…

Adam had his arm out, focusing his Will on 'Dad-Lu.' "You _bastard!_ " he shouted, genuinely pissed off because Michael wasn't that bad of a guy once you got to know him and he got beyond the whole 'spawn of Satan' bit.

"What the – what are you doing!" Satan snapped back, wings out, putting on his best intimidating expression. "I _created_ you-"

"And I'm telling you to stuff it, buddy!"

Pepper, Wensleydale and Brian ran back to Adam's side, although from the angry expression on his face, Adam had things quite under control.

"It's time," said Jesus softly, and she began the End.

Glowing now, shining brightly with the Presence that infused her, Jesus calmly strode over Evilosoth the Destroyer, Conqueror of Worlds.

At first they were evenly matched, and his very being burned hers. However, without Adam's powers to buoy it, his aura began to wane while hers continued to shine brightly.

Her essence was drowning out his, and he was forced to his knees in supplication.

_You're sad, and tired. You don't want to go on like this anymore, do you? You want everything to End, and that's why you fight. Not for the glory of Hell._

There was no response to her mental inquiry, but she wasn't surprised by that at all. He was still fighting her tooth and nail, but he had no chance of victory anymore.

_I shall grant you peace, my friend._

Meanwhile, Adam continued to focus his will in keeping his 'father' suspended in the air, completely helpless. Then he gasped when he noticed that Satan's wings were no longer blood-black-red, but rather they were a glorious crimson.

Uriel collapsed to the ground, covered in a light sheen of sweat. He immediately started mourning the Second, ripping the feathers from his wings and crying.

Gabriel finally made it to Michael, cradling the Warrior's head on his lap. "Don't you dare die, Michael – _HEALER GET OVER HERE NOW!"_

If Raphael had thought that Michael stood a chance, he would have gently chided Gabriel for pulling rank on him. But that wound had assuredly been lethal, and so when Raphael arrived he merely reached up and closed Michael's eyes, saying a prayer for his peace before focusing his healing efforts on Zizi, who actually stood a chance of surviving.

Gabriel was whispering heatedly, informing Michael that he was an idiot and he wasn't allowed to die because it was _Gabriel's_ honor to kill him. Raphael reached up and pushed a damp lock of hair from Gabriel's face, deciding, once Zizi was all right, to focus on Gabriel's pain in order to ignore Michael's lack of anything.

 _"MICHAEL YOU MORON!"_ Gabriel shrieked before sobbing.

Finally, the Antichrist responded to the Christ; not with words, but with merely a nod.

Jesus raised her hand and paused it an inch away from Evilosoth the Destroyer, Conqueror of Worlds' forehead. _Peace be with you._ She pressed it down.

When the explosion that erupted faded, there was only one shining beacon left standing there in the ruins where the two had been. She looked to the sky and proclaimed, "Fear God, and give Him glory; for the hour of His Judgment is come!"


	25. Paradise Thwarted by JAMoczo

_The Angelic Guide to a More Complete Existence_ only once addressed the idea of humans in Heaven, Rule 542, which read as follows:

_Regarding the Humans and their permit into the Kingdom, THE LORD hath decreed that any Human who lives their life according to the Virtues shall be welcome._

Underneath that, in the scrawl easily attributed to the First Archangel, was:

_So basically that means that if they're not complete tools they get to come on in. I like that. Simple, yet effective._

Underneath that, in the Messenger's neat calligraphy:

_That's it, Michael, I'm banning you from ever holding a writing implement again. "Complete tools." Really. Your tactlessness continues to astound me._

And underneath that, in the Healer's placating print:

_Be nice, Gabriel. Michael means well, and I suppose if "tool" means what the context clues indicate it does, he has the right idea. Isn't that what matters?_

And beneath that, the Severer had written in his little scribble:

_Now, is this all tools, or can I still be a wrench?_

No one answered the question, because no one was sure how to.

Regardless, God had approved of the idea. Sure, humans had come up with more divisions and sub-clauses than was practical, but for all intents and purposes, 'don't be a tool' was the Golden Rule to follow.

And that was how He decided which human souls went Up and which went Down, which He did before even making an entrance to the winning side. The demons were going to be a bit tougher, and He had mentally psyched Himself up for it during the battle. It was hard to do that seriously, considering He'd had _"Poker Face"_ stuck in His head since He had created the Universe, but He was omnipotent and so made do.

* * *

_The Lord smiled throughout all of Creation but for a few times._

_He Frowned when Lucifer betrayed his brethren and fell from the sky like a star._

_He Frowned when Humans, His latest creation, lied to Him about an apple. He Frowned when the Humans began destroying each other._

_He Frowned further when He realized that, despite Humanity's flaws, His original children, the Angels and the Demons, were far worse. They were always fighting each other, with the Humans caught in the middle._

_Until He saw two of them, one angel and one demon, befriend each other and discover Love._

_And then God smiled again, this time with Hope, and devised a Plan._

A bell sounded throughout the area.

The skies split in twain and thus did God descend, glorious and fiery and fighting to keep a serious demeanor. It was quite a bit harder than He thought it would be, considering the shocked and awed glances he was getting from most everyone on the field. Except, of course, from Lucifer.

"Hello again, My Child," God said cheerfully.

"I don't know what the crap you did, but I demand it be undone!" Lucifer demanded, his wings flapping in his anger. God was bemused to note that Lucifer still didn't address Him with reverent capitalization. _He'll never grow up_ , He thought fondly.

God walked past him, placing a hand on Gabriel's head. The brown-haired angel was kneeling over Michael's corpse, and it pained God to see one Child dead and another in so much pain. "Gabriel Jibril,why do you mourn? Through Me all things are possible; you know this."

Gabriel's gray eyes were filled with unshed tears as he looked up. He cheeks were swollen, given away just how much he had cried in so short a time. "Lord… Father, can You, _please_ …"

"Michael's sacrifice is part of the Plan, Gabriel," God said with a gentle smile.

"You knew this would happen?" Gabriel asked, the tears spilling over. "You… You knew, and You didn't… You didn't warn us?"

"I know everything, My Child," God reminded him gently. "As I have since the Beginning and as I always will. I know exactly how this will play out. Everything has gone according to the Plan."

"Which there is none," Crowley muttered under his breath. "Stupid pigeons."

"Wait a minute!" Aziraphale cried suddenly, "You told me that You turn off Your omniscience; that You had no idea how things were going to go! When You brought me back into the Host, remember?"

God gave Aziraphale a very smug-looking smile. "And you _misplaced_ that flaming sword."

Aziraphale had the grace to blush horribly. "Touché," he muttered.

Gabriel stood up. "But, but this isn't right!" he cried. "Why should Lucifer get to live when Michael has spent his entire life serving You?"

Raphael, who was also crying, stood up from Michael's side and hugged Gabriel, less for comfort and more to make sure he didn't do anything rash. Raphael's soothing presence calmed down Gabriel, whose face fell and looked emotionally dead.

"I have made no such declarations," God replied with a little shrug, wanting to hug Gabriel Himself but refraining for the moment. "Lucifer's fate is in his own hands. However, before I deal with him, there are others who need to be looked at." He looked around at the angels and demons giving Him frightened looks, and He smiled. "Cheer up! I Judge fairly. And… to lighten the mood, let's start with a wedding!"

"Awww, I love weddings!" Chamuel gushed. Everyone else was looking amongst themselves in shock. What was He doing? What was He trying to pull?

God strode past the others, and Crowley's unnecessary heart started beating faster as God approached him. Then his heart stopped beating entirely as his human corporation disappeared completely, leaving him as the dark, serpentine demon he was. Aziraphale smiled at him, and Crowley said, "Ngk."

"Give Me your hands, dears," said God fondly, reaching out His own.

Suddenly Aziraphale's face no longer looked so happy. "Er, ah, what is all this, then?" he asked weakly.

God beamed. "Why, your father has been requesting a real wedding for ages, and I feel that this is the perfect time!"

"Eeeeeeee!" squealed Raphael with stars in his eyes. He and Chamuel hugged happily, watching these events unfold. To be fair, Raphael would have hugged anyone, but Chamuel was the closest person.

Aziraphale tentatively placed his hand on top of God's. Crowley mechanically followed suit, the only words he was managing to form being, "Ngkngkngk."

God cupped their hands in both of His. "These two who stand before you today," He began in an authoritative yet cheerful voice, "exemplify everything that I have ever wanted for all of you here. Despite having every reason to hate each other – one is an angel of the Host, given a flaming sword to keep demons out of the Garden of Eden, and one is a demon, whose job was to get into the Garden to defile it – they have overcome all boundaries made of ideologies and allegiance. These two are Good in My Sight, for they have found Love in their Enemy. If only humans – if only all of you had been able to do the same! Just imagine the peace and joy that would have resulted!"

"Ngkngkngkngk-"

Aziraphale, still beaming although a little teary now, kicked Crowley in the shin. Crowley finally stopped, although he really didn't want to.

"Regardless, now we are here to celebrate the Joining of this angel and this demon. Wherever one goes, so shall go the other. Aziraphael Izrafael, do you agree to this," His eyes twinkled, "Arrangement?"

Considering he had been quite worried about exactly that, he nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, yes I do," he said, glowing with happiness and tears spilling down his cheeks. Raphael was also crying, and he and Chamuel were still glomping.

"Our baby's getting maaarriiiiied," Chamuel cooed.

"Yes he iiiiiiis," Raphael agreed, having no idea what exactly he'd just gotten himself into and, at the moment, not really caring.

"Crowley, Kireawel Gadre'el," God said, smiling at Crowley now, "do you agree to this Arrangement?"

"Ngkngk," said Crowley, although he started nodding. They were already married, sort of, so why was this so nerve-wracking and embarrassing and _ick public displays of affection!_

"So let it be," said God, and intricately-fashioned rings appeared on each of their left ring fingers. They were two metals, a bronze-like palladium and a silver-coloured iridium, that had been fashioned into an infinity symbol; they were each adorned by a single red diamond (Crowley would later get them appraised and faint from how much they were worth). God began applauding, and the entire audience followed suit; except for Gabriel, who wouldn't have clapped for Crowley's happiness even had it not come on the heels of his own misery.

God smiled, stepping away from the once-again newlyweds. "The lesson, I hope I made clear, is that love is the most important thing. Hmmm, let's make it official. Here is My Pronouncement."

The world began glowing.

_Long ago, there were only angels, but they lived in Peace. Since Lucifer waged his War and time began its never-ending march, there has been no rest for Angel, Demon or Human._

_This is My Decision._

_Angels, Demons and Human Souls who agree to Peace, Harmony and respecting their fellow beings in accordance with My Plan shall survive. Those who do not shall not._

_No more shall I Judge according to sides, but rather according to character._

_Heaven, Hell, Earth and Limbo shall all become One, shared amongst those who have decided to live according to My Will._

"In laymen's terms," He continued jovially, completely ignoring the severity and power of the words He had spoken, "this shall be the basis on which I Judge you – can you live in harmony with your brethren, or are you doomed to repeat the cycle of hatred which has destroyed this world already?"

"The answer to that," Lucifer interrupted loudly, "is a big, hearty _bite me_. Just make me the way I was, give me back my kingdom, and I _might_ be lenient when I finally come to destroy you, old man!"

He shook His head. "I can't do that for you, Lucifer. You've been sewn on to the Presence," He gave Uriel a nod, and the Archangel bowed, "and as such, were I to remove you, you would cease to exist."

Lucifer's jaw dropped. "That's just – you've always rambled on about how you're all-powerful, so prove it and-"

Gabriel lifted Michael's sword and stood up. "Lord, allow me to wipe the filthy traitor from existence," he said, his voice dull and eyes swollen. There was a hint of anger in his voice, but otherwise he looked far colder than he ever was. "He can't possibly coexist with us, and even if he could, no one would want him to."

Raphael grabbed Gabriel from behind, holding him tightly. "Stop it, Gabriel, killing him won't bring back Michael!"

"Then they deserve to die together," Gabriel hissed.

"Gabriel, please!"

"The Messenger commands you release him, Healer!" he snapped.

Raphael bit his lower lip but didn't let go. "Pull rank all you want, Gabriel, you know I'm right about this and if I have to be punished for it I will!"

Uriel hid behind Belial, who was still not convinced he was going to be surviving this whole ordeal. Uriel was crying into his back, mourning Michael and muttering whether he'd done the right thing by returning Lucifer to the Host. Belial didn't know the answer to that question and he didn't care overmuch for Michael, so he kept his mouth shut.

Lucifer gave Gabriel his best smirk. "It's a matter of survival of the fittest. I'm better than him, so I survived while he didn't."

"For the love of – _YOU ARE EQUALS, YOU IMBECILE!"_ Gabriel shrieked at the top of his lungs.

Lucifer looked completely affronted even as he muttered "were," and deep down everyone knew that Michael would have the exact same expression on his face.

"I shall grant you a boon as well, Lucifer, should you agree to this situation," said God. "Should you decide to remain alive, you shall decide what happens to Michael."

Gasps sounded throughout the area. Both of Lucifer's eyebrows shot straight up. The fact that this was obviously a test to see if Lucifer was willing to cooperate need not be said, but still, it seemed so risky and unnecessary…

 _"WHAT!"_ Gabriel screeched, turning to God with a look of betrayal. Raphael also gave God a look of shock, and Uriel finally peered out from behind Belial with a wibbly look and an expression that said, _Ooo I don't think this is a good idea…_

God's returning look was one that clearly said, _Trust in Me, My Children._

Lucifer smiled. "Well, you know, the natural order-"

"Excuse me," Aziraphale said haltingly, clearing his throat and stepping forward, causing Crowley to die on the inside from worry, "Lucifer, sir, would you like some tea?"

The shining Lucifer gazed upon him, and within mere seconds the focus of every being in the area was on Aziraphale.

"Would I!" Lucifer exclaimed.

God beamed. Raphael quietly moved to take Crowley's hand, holding it tightly. Crowley was both terrified that Aziraphale had just condemned himself, and also marveling that his theory (that all the problems in the world could be solved by both sides meeting Aziraphale for tea and discussing the problem like civilized people) was being supported once more.

Aziraphale, smiling with more confidence now, produced a tea set and walked forward, making it float in front of Lucifer as he poured the returned angel a cup. "One lump or two, my dear?"

"Two, please," Lucifer replied, patiently waiting.

He added the two lumps of sugar to the tea. "Milk, dear? I also have biscuits, and a few scones if you'd like."

"No thank you."

"Now then, it seems to me, Un- Uncle Lucifer," he stuttered out before taking a deep breath, clearing his throat and continuing much more confidently, "that it would be in your best interests to wish for Michael to be returned to life."

"Oh really," the former Adversary drawled, sipping.

"Really," Aziraphale continued, "After all, for all of these years, you wished to be the one to kill Michael. And while you did technically kill him, you know full well that stabbing him in the back while he was engrossed in a three-on-one duel is not quite what you had in mind. If he weren't dead, he would mock you severely for days, if not weeks. Knowing him, he actually might never stop mocking you for it."

"True, it does leave something to be desired," Lucifer admitted, thoughtfully sipping his tea. "But still, if he does come back and I kill him the correct way, it's goodbye to _me_ , and while it does have some desirable qualities…"

"Well, then there's my second point. Rather than kill him, wouldn't you prefer to make his eternity miserable?" Aziraphale suggested sweetly, "You know, make him wish he had _stayed_ dead?"

* * *

_THREE WEEKS LATER, AFTER THE WORLD FINALLY ENDED:_

"You know, Raphael, I am capable of walking," Michael pouted, dressed in a full-body cast and looking none too happy about it. He was also stuck in a wheelchair and had been pushed into a park in Heaven, where he was sitting by a fountain with his three fellow Archangels. His cast was covered in little get-well scribbles punctuated with the occasional demonic threat. The back was adorned with calligraphic _KICK ME,_ although Michael couldn't see it and so was left to wonder why people kept kicking him. "Besides, I wanna see all of the changes. I feel like I missed so much!" Feeling as if he'd made his point, he attempted to stand up.

Gabriel pushed him back down. "No," he said simply.

"Really," Raphael agreed pleasantly, holding up a large spoon full of broth. "I want you to drink this now, that's a dear."

"I'm not _sick_ ," he protested as the spoon was shoved into his mouth. He swallowed dutifully then said, "Like Father would bring me back in less than perfect health?"

"That Father had to bring you back at _all_ is enough of a reason to make sure you're perfectly healthy. Now quit complaining," Gabriel instructed.

He pouted more.

"It's okay, Michael," said Uriel, who was currently putting little lacy bows in all of Michael's little curls, "We've already scheduled to go back on tour soon so then you'll be able to be out and about again."

"Who are we touring _to?_ " Michael asked.

"Oh, everyone," Uriel continued, "Lots of angels really liked watching us on stage, and the human souls still around will be coming too I bet, and even some demons are so fond of the music that they're willing to come see us, and since we're not allowed to kill them or anything anymore we should have a very large fan base."

"So basically, everything is like before," Michael translated, "except that non-cooperation gets one smote and the humans are all technically dead?"

"Pretty much," Uriel said with a shrug. "The humans all died with the Antichrist, but the nice ones can stick around while the mean ones are gone. I like this setup, myself. I think Daddy should have had it all like this to begin with."

Raphael pointed out, "He has essentially depleted the amount of free will that human souls have, however. Now they can do as they please except for committing crimes against one another, and they no longer have Earth to themselves. Everyone's sharing space, although I can't imagine any of us will go down to Hell any time soon."

"The humans lost the War, so of course they lost some of their liberties," said Gabriel curtly.

"Some parts of Hell are rather nice," Uriel voiced lamely, his hand petting the Keys to Hell at his hip.

The three other Archangels approached them; Zerachiel and Raguel were arguing amongst themselves, and Chamuel had soon jumped onto Raphael and was sitting on his lap. Raphael for his part looked expectant, if a bit disheartened; however, he did fondly pat her on the back.

"We have something we want to say to you," Zerachiel said importantly, looking to Raguel and Chamuel for backup. The other two nodded in agreement before all three looked at the Four.

"We want to join your band!" Chamuel exclaimed.

Uriel gasped. "But _we're_ in the band!"

"We're sick of being ignored," Raguel explained, "and we want to join your band. In fact, we insist on it."

"Shut up, Raguel," said Gabriel. Raguel pouted.

Michael looked thoughtful. "Well, if one of you would like to play the bass, I would really like to be able to concentrate on just singing. You know, so I can rock out."

"I will!" Chamuel cooed, waving happily. "That sounds like it could be fun!"

The First of the Archangels bit his lip, looking at his subordinates thoughtfully as he tried to think of a way that the band could accommodate all of them. "I suppose…" he said at length, "I suppose that the band could also use two electric guitar players."

"I'll do that," said Raguel. "I wouldn't mind that."

"So, ah, Zerachiel… another bass guitar player?" Michael scratched the back of his head. "Harmonica? Tambourine?"

Uriel pouted at him. "But what about Big Brother Lucifer?"

Michael's chiseled jaw dropped. " _You mean he's still alive_?"

The Archangels, more than used to Michael's long-distance rivalry with Lucifer, all shared glances before Gabriel ventured, "He was spared because he chose to have you returned to life. Thanks to Uriel, he is currently an angel. I believe Uriel's point, however, was that he ought to be in the band as well."

Michael's jaw did not un-drop.

"Perhaps it's too soon for something like that," Raphael suggested hurriedly, trying to get the topic over with. "After all, although he's an angel again, he isn't exactly, ah, how to put this…"

"Acceptable," Gabriel supplied.

"The way he was before," Raphael corrected, hands wringing. "I highly doubt he'd want to work with us, for starters, and on our side I can't imagine prolonged exposure to him is something that will go over well with the vast majority of our members."

"Meaning Michael," Raguel said with a sigh.

Michael's shocked look turned into an affronted one. "I can behave around him when I want to," he protested. "I just won't want to, because he's a tool."

"Now now, you should be nice to your elders."

The Archangels looked up to the approaching Lucifer, who still had a snide smirk on his face and a very perplexed halo around his head. "Really, gossiping about me already?" he asked, confidently striding and giving the gathered Seven a severe case of déjà vu. "I've barely been back for weeks."

"You wouldn't be back at all if it weren't for Uriel. You would have been found worthless and destroyed," said Gabriel curtly, still sore about the stabbing-Michael thing.

"I think everything turned out nicely," Uriel defended himself mildly. "I mean, I'd feel horribly guilty if Michael were still dead…"

Lucifer graced Gabriel's declaration with a yawn before addressing Michael, "So I'm going to be the lead singer of the band, I take it? It is fitting, considering I'm the leader."

Michael's affronted glare came back. "Hey! Nowhere in your 'welcome back to angelhood' contract did it say you were my boss again," at least he _hoped_ that wasn't in there or else he was going to have a talk with Father, "and you are _not_ being the singer, because the band already has a singer!"

"Really? From what I heard, it had a donkey with laryngitis belting out the lyrics."

Michael flung himself from his seat, landing on Lucifer and forcing the twins down to the ground. While he wanted to pummel him, he was still in his aforementioned full-body cast and so had to resort to beating him with his head. Lucifer was pinned but wasn't taking much damage; this was very apparent, as he continued to insult him and demand he stop while slapping at him ineffectually.

None of the other Archangels bothered trying to pry them apart.

"It's going to be a long eternity," said Gabriel, although anyone who knew him well would recognize the little glint of happiness in his cool grey eyes.

* * *

"So we need to hurry up and get to the gig," said Aziraphale, unlocking the door to his and Crowley's still-standing South Downs cottage, "as I believe it begins in two hours and we're hardly dressed for it and – oh dear."

Crowley peered in over the angel's shoulder and his eyebrows shot straight up.

When they had left, there had been a single Demonic rabbit and a single Celestial bunny. Now, after their triumphant return, there were at least fifty bunnies with soft fur and ears in various positions that were all breathing fire at each other. The interior of the cottage was mostly ash. Aziraphale had been about to have a panic attack until he saw that the door to the basement, which was where his library was located, was still shut and the wards still in place.*

Truffles and Java Chip were in a corner looking awfully satisfied.

"Well," he murmured to Crowley, "I think we're going to need a bigger house."

Crowley's jaw dropped in indignation. "Oh no no, we are not keeping any of these vermin!"

They all looked up at him with evil glints in their beady little eyes.

"Never mind, I think they'll be a nice addition. Outside. In a pen."

Smoke filled the room, dripping from the rabbits' mouths.

"A nice pen," Crowley amended.

* * *

* There were about twenty wards in all. At the end of the day, Aziraphale was the only being in Creation who could go down into that basement to see his books, and that was just the way he liked it.

* * *

"Welcome angels, humans and demooooons!" Michael crooned, one arm up in the air clearly bidding for applause, which he got. As a compromise, Michael's upper body was out of the cast, but his lower body remained rigidly bound.

The area was packed with angels, demons and human souls all here for the gig. "Welcome to the very first concert in the tour of the newly-revised hit rock group Foreigner!"

The applause got louder, including cheering, whooping and stomping, although Aziraphale continued to merely politely clap and Crowley refused to do anything on principle. They were in an incredibly large stadium, although of course Aziraphale and Crowley had front-row seats, because high-rise seats are for other people.

"Before we do anything, though, our keyboardist Gabriel wants to address a member of the audience!" Michael grandiosely gestured behind him to a very passive Gabriel, who stepped forward and took the microphone from him.

The stoic Archangel stood there, reveling in the silence that greeted him. Finally he said into the microphone, "So, I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want."

Crowley's skin began crawling.

" _So tell me what you want, what you really really want!"_ Raphael sang back, looking incredibly awkward even as the music began playing.

 _"I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want!"_ Uriel sang sweetly, rocking back and forth.

_"So tell me what you want, what you really really want!"_

Crowley's serpentine eyes were wide like someone experiencing a flashback from a horrible war. Which, in a very strange sense, he was. Aziraphale, seeing this, started gesturing for the angels on the stage to stop.

Which, of course, they didn't; Gabriel, for the first time in Existence, smiled brightly and sang with vigor, which confounded his audience and made even his fellow Archangels look uncomfortable.

 _"So slam your body down and wind it all around_!" they sang together, doing just that (even Michael, unable to move his lower body, tried his best to dance). Aziraphale, who had initially felt guilty for telling Gabriel Crowley's dark secret of Spice Girl hatred in lieu of Crowley being smote, now thought it might have been worth it just to see the Archangels attempt to dance. Although he was covering Crowley's ears with the hopes of lessening the blows, the demon still seemed in shock.

"Okay then!" Michael said, grabbing his microphone again, "now that that's over with, allow me to introduce to you our new band members!" He pointed at them as introduced them. "We have Chamuel on the bass guitar, Raguel on the electric guitar, and Zerachiel on the tambourine! Uriel is still on the drums, Raphael on the electric guitar, and Gabriel on the keyboard!" He gave a wide sweep of his arm and the audience burst into enthusiastic cheers and catcalls. "We also have Lucifer as our new manager, but if he does as he said he would and embezzle all our money, I'll beat the ever-living crap out of him!"

Lucifer, who was standing off to the side of the stage, just smirked evilly.

"One! Two! One two three four!"

A familiar guitar riff began with Raphael and was joined by the others.

 _"I would climb any mountain,"_ Michael sang, and apparently death had done wonders for his singing voice – (OF COURSE I DID, I LOVE FOREIGNER) – because he sounded much better now than he had before. " _Sail across a stormy sea! If that's what it takes me, baby, to show how much you mean to me!"_

Aziraphale smiled at Crowley, taking his hand. "You know, now you have no excuse. You can finally teach me how to dance."

Crowley sighed, pulling his angel close and placing his hand on the small of his back, entwining their other hands. "Let's start off slow," he muttered, just swaying the music. Aziraphale started to sway with him, and although he was off-beat, Crowley was able to correct him.

Adam was standing between Pepper and Jesus as the Them, Jesus and Sister Prudence watched the concert and danced to the music as well.

"So, uh, yay us," said Jesus over the music. "You know, winning and stuff."

"Just ask him out already, would you?" Pepper said with a smirk.

Jesus' face turned bright red. Adam's was not much better. "Oh, but I mean, you two are, ah, oh I just couldn't, I mean-"

Pepper's smirk grew as she patted Jesus on the shoulder. "If you really want, we could just share him. He's really not worth arguing over, now is he?" She poked Adam's cheek.

The redness of Adam's face finally surpassed Jesus'. "Hey," he said weakly.

"I was _joking_ , Adam, geez. Anyway, I've been waffling for all these years between Adam and Wensley, and I _thought_ that you would make my decision easier by hooking up with Adam, but nooo you had to leave things open. So I'm playing matchmaker now." Wensleydale's jaw dropped. "You could have told _me_ that," he said, aghast, "It would have saved a lot of trouble on my part!"

"What about me?" Brian asked softly and bitterly. He was ignored.

"You're so cute," Pepper said to Wensleydale fondly. "You say that as if you think I would have let you just ask me out on a date, like I would let you act in a stereotypical gender role. Not in my relationships, honey-bunch. That's why I like you in the first place; because I know I'm going to be in charge."

"Oh, yay," said Wensleydale weakly, although all in all he didn't look too upset.

"And he can do your taxes!" Brian suggested brightly and sarcastically, still a little peeved that Pepper did not consider him acceptable but not willing to incur her wrath.

Sister Prudence gently hit him on the back of the head. "Shut up, Brian," she said sweetly. He blushed and did so.

Jesus and Adam blushed at each other before gently taking each other's hands.

" _I have waited a lifetime_ ," Michael sang, shooting a glance over his shoulder and winking at Gabriel, " _spent my time so fool-ish-lyyyyyy,"_

"You can say that again," Gabriel muttered under his breath.

" _But now that I found you, together we'll make history!"_

The Five Bikers of the Apocalypse were also at the concert, standing in the back – not with Adam and his friends of course, as that whole First Failed Apocalypse thing may have been in the past but things were still rather tense and awkward between the two groups – and bopping along to the music. "So we finally won this time!" War exclaimed, raising her drink in a toast.

"And reunited as a family," Famine added, looking very pointedly at Pestilence and Pollution. The two other Horsepersons smiled back at him innocently.

THAT COULD HAVE GONE MUCH WORSE FOR US, said Death, who had abandoned his dark robes in favor of a Hawaiian shirt and a pair of plain Bermuda shorts. FOR EXAMPLE, EVERYONE COULD HAVE _NOT_ DIED. I PERSONALLY AM GOING TO HAVE A WONDERFUL RETIREMENT.

"But what happens to us now?" Pestilence mused, swirling his drink around his glass. "I must admit that I, once I thought it through, assumed we would all disappear. However, we seem to be still alive."

"It's plausible that we are still here, but have no influence?" Famine suggested, "Or perhaps there are still mortal creatures around that we can destroy.* We could merely be considered demons or angels, instead of manifestations."

Death, who was an angel after all, merely shrugged.

War gave a wary frown. "I don't know, that sounds kind of lame to me. But hey, maybe I'll still be able to cause some strife no matter what, and that sounds fine by me. Everyone may be at peace now but that doesn't mean they can't still hate each other secretly until rage boils over and they all fight."

PRETTY SURE INFIGHTING RESULTS IN A HOLY SMITE TO THE ASS, Death commented. BUT MAYBE WITH ENOUGH TIME GOD WILL JUST BACK OFF AGAIN AND SO THEY'LL START FIGHTING. THEY ARE A BUNCH OF IDIOTS, AFTER ALL.

"And I'm very patient," the other Bikers said in unison before looking at each other, blushing a bit at being the same as their partners, and then secretly admitting they'd spent too much time together.

" _Feels like the fiiiirst tiiiime, it feeeels like the very fiiiiirst tiiiiime!"_

* * *

* Or maybe God thought they were charming in a strange way.

* * *

Belial had put on his nicest suit, fixed up his air, checked his breath, and now was waiting patiently outside the concert hall. Although he was a master of lust and seduction, he found himself hard-pressed to not panic from nervousness. _Face it, Belial, he'll either smite you or not understand what you're talking about. It'll be a nice rejection._

The Archangels walked out together, chatting quietly among them. Uriel yawned and trailed behind, still humming.

Belial suavely slid up to him, holding him back just enough so that they were still walking but the others were far enough away for Belial to be comfortable. "I got you something," Belial purred.

Uriel's eyes lit up. "I love presents!"

Belial handed over a large heart-shaped box of chocolates.

"Eeee, chocolate! I _love_ chocolate, even more than I love presents!" He popped one into his mouth. "Mr. Belial, you are so nice to me even if you are a horri – no, wait, Daddy says demons are okay now as long as they're nice, so um, I guess now you're just nice to me."

"Maybe you're just easy to be nice to," Belial replied with a wink.

Uriel blushed and fanned himself. Then he did something Belial didn't expect – he leaned forward and kissed Belial on the cheek.

"There," said Uriel, backing up a bit to smile at him. "Your aura said you wanted me to do that, so I did."

Belial's cheek felt it was burning. "Oh," he said.

"You're so silly," the angel said fondly, patting the demon on the head.

Belial's replying grin was not his usual suave one; it was decidedly more goofy, and happy.

Meanwhile, up ahead Chamuel was beaming as she wrapped her arms around one of Raphael's. "Those two are cute too, although of course Uriel is something of a special case when it comes to that sort of thing."

Michael shuddered. "I can't even imagine Uriel doing anything so… physical. It would be like…" he looked over and grinned at Zerachiel, "… doing something with a _child_."

"You had best not be implying what I think you are, Michael," Zerachiel said sternly.

"Of course not, o Archangel of Watching Children."

_"MY DOMAINS OF CHILDREN AND WATCHING ARE SEPARATE!"_

"Be nice," Raguel said in vain, and no one knew it was in vain more than Raguel.

Michael just grinned, and Gabriel sighed fondly. He left his hand just a little closer to Michael than he normally would have, and Michael took the hint and his hand.

"So, Raphael, would you like to get some coffee?" Chamuel chirped to Raphael.

"Oh, I do like coffee," Raphael said cheerfully, and again had no idea what he was getting into.

* * *

Aziraphale was blindfolded and had to admit he didn't like it, but he trusted Crowley, who had been the one to blindfold him. "Step up," his demon murmured, and Aziraphale did so. "Right. I'd be a terrible guide if I managed to get you with a broken nose, eh?"

"That you would be. Where are we-"

"How many times are you going to ask me that before you finally accept that I'm not going to tell you?"

Aziraphale sighed. "Fine. Are we almost there, at least?"

"Almost… Right through here, and… Ah, here we are. Okay. You can take off the blindfold now."

Aziraphale did so and gasped.

" _Crowley_ ," he breathed. "Is this…?"

"Yes," he said nervously.

"I never thought I'd see it again," he whispered, stepping forward through the lush grass. "It's just as beautiful as it was back then. How…?"

"It came back once Humanity was gone," Crowley said with a shrug. "It's not a big deal, it's just, you know, something sappy and sentimental, like you, so I figured you'd appreciate it, and…"

Before Aziraphale could properly answer the unspoken question, a grinning Adam walked up to them. "Hey you two!" he exclaimed.

"Adam, what are you doing here?" Aziraphale asked him pleasantly.

"Really, who _wouldn't_ want to see the Garden if you could, huh?" the former Antichrist replied with a boyish glint in his eyes.

"That's why I'm here," said Steve the demon, who had somehow managed to survive all of the commotion, "that and because it's safe here, I think."

"Eh, it's not that great," Crowley scoffed softly.

Adam and Steve looked at each other before Adam looked back to Aziraphale and Crowley. "Yeah, I think it's overrated m'self, but that doesn't mean I didn't want to see it. Does it look the same as it did when you two were here?"

Aziraphale shrugged, cheeks turning pink. "I spent most of my time guarding the Eastern Gate, actually, so I couldn't tell you. I can't help but wonder, however, if Eden is back, does that mean that He'll be reintroducing a new set of Humans again as well?"

The four beings standing in the Garden looked up in shock when they heard the sound of two infants crying in the distance. They all smiled, wondered what the future might bring, and began looking forward to it.

It was a nice day.


	26. Epilogue

Raphael would find out what he'd gotten into on his and Chamuel's honeymoon. It was to Hawaii and was quite lovely, even if he didn't have a clue it was a honeymoon until finding out they were in a _honeymoon suite_ and no, it wasn't a mix-up, and really you have just the loveliest blushing bride, Mr. Angel, so congratulations on your marriage and enjoy your stay at the Ritz-Carlton Kapalua! Then he figured out what exactly he'd gotten into, but really didn't mind, as he's just that nice of an angel.

Chamuel of course fully embraced her life as Mrs. Raphael Angel, although the only thing that really changed between them was that she could tell everyone she was married to Raphael and also dote on "ickle Zizi." Aziraphale was not entirely thrilled that his father had somehow gotten married without his own knowledge, but they did seem fond of each other and Chamuel gave out free sex advice to Aziraphale, so he couldn't complain.

* * *

Belial considered copying Chamuel's move and somehow having sex with Uriel without Uriel's knowledge; however, that struck him as a bit harder to pull off, considerably creepier, and decidedly not his style.

Instead, he continued his dogged pursuit of the Archangel, continuing to give him boxes of chocolate and terms of sexual endearment. In the end, Belial managed to get into Uriel's bed… but solely for snuggles. Uriel was incredibly pleased with having this new bed partner, and Belial sighed, continued his quest, and didn't sweat the details.

* * *

Shortly after the end of the world, Gabriel and Lucifer realized that they both had a vested interest in Michael's continued existence. They met in secret, argued, negotiated, threatened and cajoled, until finally coming up with a system wherein Michael went to Gabriel during the weekdays and he went to Lucifer on the weekends.

Neither cared about Michael's opinions, and Michael was too perplexed to really protest.

Regarding Gabriel, he never once spoke three little words, and in fact continued to act as though he and Michael were not technically living together five days a week. From the outside, it appeared as if nothing had changed. On the inside, everything had.

On the weekends, Michael and Lucifer played putt-putt or played basketball or went competitive rowing. War often joined them and they made a family day of it. Whenever Lucifer returned Michael late, Gabriel would severely scold him for hours.

Despite being an angel, Lucifer was still considered the ruler of demons because no other demon was alive who wanted the responsibility. He didn't mind, although everyone admitted conditions in Hell improved drastically, likely as a result of Lucifer's subconscious angelhood. If you asked him about it, he would threaten to torture you. Considering if he did so he would be destroyed, he wouldn't follow through with it, but no one except for the other Archangels ever called him on it. It would have to be enough for him.

* * *

The Five Bikers of the Apocalypse didn't have a clue what to do next, and so they decided to go with the flow. They had, after all, already fulfilled their Purposes, so what to do now?

The answer was simple. A very long, dirty, zombie-catered retirement in the tropics, where Death could finally put his collection of tropical clothing to use. The only one not entirely satisfied with this was War, who still occasionally went back to the mainland (swimming through shark-infested waters to get there) in order to hang out with her other family.

* * *

Pepper did not cease her job as Adam's bodyguard despite the fact that Adam was now both Antichrist and Prince of Hell. She didn't really need to do anything anymore regarding Adam's safety, so she and her sister tended to go into the depths of Hell and try to reform the Fangirl Layer into an acceptable place where the ladies worked together instead of fighting. However, Pepper overheard a fangirl whining because she shipped Brian/Wensleydale, and the two Bodyguards of the Prince instead decided to wage war on the Fangirls of Hell.

Wensleydale became the best dam – bloody accountant Hell had ever seen. Brian continued to work on developing his hell powers, although since it wasn't in his job description and he was neglecting his other duties, he went broke and continued to live in Adam's basement until Sister Prudence made enough money as a demon-kicker* to support him instead, so long as he lived in servitude to her as well.

Jesus went to jail not long after the events of this tale. She was bailed out by Adam. They rode off in his beat-down truck. Then they decided to embrace a life of crime, beginning with the poisoning of a run-down diner in the middle of nowhere. Of course they had just intended on poisoning one person, but the entire diner suffered their musical massacre.

After that they drove into the sunset, being chased by the local authorities and vowing to never return. Although if that is the end of their tale remains to be seen…

* * *

* Not demon _smiter_ , so she herself didn't get smote; in fact, most of the demons agreed that without a little violence they were bored, so in a sense Pepper and Sister Prudence served a very valuable function and served the peace. That they got to have some fun wasn't an issue.

* * *

The Fangirls of Hell, aforementioned wars notwithstanding, were very pleased, as all of them had at least one ship they wanted fulfilled.

* * *

And what about Aziraphale and Crowley, two failed Armageddons and a successful one later?

Neither of them had any idea what they wanted to do next. On the one hand, they had tried to unofficially retire after the second failed Armageddon and yet the end of the world had sought them out, so it seemed a little silly for them to try it again (Crowley proposed they move some place in the middle of a jungle and set up wards all over so nothing could ever find them, but Aziraphale worried about the humidity and his books, and countered that they could do that in the tundra as well without that particular problem, and Crowley dropped the issue entirely, recalling being cold-blooded).

So, after it decided that they may as well stay in the Great Britain area, the second matter became whether or not they wanted to remain in the countryside or move back to an urban place. Crowley suggested Glasgow, Aziraphale countered with Shropshire. They compromised with Milton Keynes, although neither was very happy about it and both considered it a failure on their part.

They moved into a large home on the outskirts of Milton Keynes with an attached pen for their new celestial-occult pets. Crowley tended to offer them to other demons which stopped by looking antagonistic, and Aziraphale didn't mind them as none went after his books. They set up play dates with the fuzzy horde owned by Uriel and Belial, although of course Raphael and now Chamuel continued to pester them for grandchildren.

Crowley never stopped dunking ducks, and Aziraphale never stopped stealing Crowley's dessert. It wasn't perfect, but it was _theirs_. Which, in a sense, made it perfect.

It's ineffable.


	27. Cast List and Acknowledgements

**_THE CAST_ **

For the movie version of **Paradise Thwarted**

Directed by Tim Burton in full stop-motion!

God - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Johnny Depp

Jesus - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Helena Bonham Carter

Metatron - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Johnny Depp

Michael - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Johnny Depp

Gabriel - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Johnny Depp

Raphael - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Johnny Depp

Uriel - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Johnny Depp

Raguel - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Johnny Depp

Zerachiel - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Johnny Depp

Chamuel - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Helena Bonham Carter

Aziraphale - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Johnny Depp

Crowley - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Johnny Depp

Lucifer - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Johnny Depp

Belial - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Johnny Depp

Samael - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Johnny Depp

Azazel - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Johnny Depp

Dagon - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Johnny Depp

Adam - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Johnny Depp

Pepper - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Helena Bonham Carter

Brian - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Johnny Depp

Wensleydale - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Johnny Depp

Steve - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Johnny Depp

War - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Helena Bonham Carter

Famine - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Johnny Depp

Pollution - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Johnny Depp

Death - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Johnny Depp

Pestilence - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Johnny Depp

Johnny McWhistle - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Johnny Depp

Hazel Prue Fair-Alsip - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Helena Bonham Carter

Dämonverderben - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Helena Bonham Cater

Evilosoth the Destroyer, Conqueror of Worlds - - - Johnny Depp

* * *

_Acknowledgements_

First of all, I of course need to thank Messrs. Pratchett and Gaiman, who have unknowingly let me play in their _Good Omens_ sandbox. Thank you both for writing this book 20 years ago, and not being gung-ho anti-fanfiction. And not just because without you I wouldn't have been able to have such fun writing this, but also because the fandom that emerged from this book is basically concentrated awesome.

Continuing in the vein of thanking people who don't care, my apologetic thanks to Lady Gaga (in fact, if you were horribly confused, Jesus and Adam's ending was, in fact, a direct reference to Lady Gaga's "Telephone" video), the Spice Girls, and the rock band Foreigner for unknowingly letting me abuse them.

Thanks go to, of course, Quantum Witch, who volunteered to beta _Manchester Lost_ and then threatened to hurt me if I didn't ask her to beta _Paradise Thwarted_. The difference between what I started with and what I ended up with is staggering, just because of her insight into situations I already had and reminders of things I'd forgotten. And you should all thank her too, as my writing style is _incredibly wordy_ and she forced me to cut back on useless descriptors, saving you all a headache!

I must also thank the wonderful people on my Livejournal friends list, who didn't complain when all of my posts were ranting about the failings of my creative processes, and in fact usually contributed to them! There's too many to name and they're all wonderful people, so you know who you are, and thank you!

And, of course, I need to thank my lovely reviewers. I would have kept posting even if you all hadn't given me over 200 reviews on fanfiction.net, but I wouldn't have enjoyed this nearly so much. You've all made this a downright JOY to write and post every week, making me the happiest little fanfiction writer ever! And I say this being a very touchy sensitive person who abhors sharing things with people… and who hates Mondays. You've cured me of both of those problems! I want to say this, as I've been asked before: if your muse wants to build off anything here, either art or fic, _feel free to do so_ , and all I ask is credit for the original idea in your author's note and a link, because I love seeing what other people come up with!

So this little arc has come to a close, but this won't be the last you hear of my take on this little world, and not the last you've heard from four very… loud Archangels. Thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it for you!

Love, me :)


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